


Webs of Lies 2.0

by Like_a_Hurricane



Series: Pernicious Prompting [27]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Spectacular Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Because I can, F/M, Gamora has a strict No Bullshit policy, M/M, Prompt Fill, Smartass Family, alien pheromones because science, but not in the way you might think, more Yggdrasil world-building, some GotG fix-it elements are present
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:10:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 60,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Like_a_Hurricane/pseuds/Like_a_Hurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started, so far as Peter Parker could tell, with the Avengers not quite being able to keep track of some of their imported-from-off-earth super-villains.</p><p>A play on smartass family where Peter gets closer to Loki before he gets close to Tony.</p><p>Currently being re-written so that its timeline is post-Guardians of the Galaxy, due to villain-related plot difficulties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I ran into sufficient difficulties with the original version of this story, in the plot-department, that after several attempts to write and re-write its 12th chapter, I figured out a way to escape the corner I felt I'd painted myself into (a creative dead end, anyway), but to achieve it required a complete plot overhaul.
> 
> This, version 2.0, is the result of that attempt. Thank all of you who have been keeping up still, with Webs of Lies, for your immense patience, and I do hope I can carry forward with this pretty swiftly.
> 
> An aside: I've actually still not seen the 2nd Amazing Spider-man movie yet, so plot points from it that aren't also in the Marvel-616 canon I've been playing with up until now won't be addressed in this story. This story takes place several months after the events Iron Man 3, Thor 2, Cap 2, and Guardians of the Galaxy, insofar as timeline.
> 
> EXCEPT: Tony still has the arc reactor in this version. Because reasons.

It all started, so far as Peter Parker could tell, with the Avengers not quite being able to keep track of some of their imported-from-off-earth super-villains.

 

A horrible not-quite-human roar of rage rang out through the street, loud and sudden, followed shortly by a sound like an explosion, setting the windows of surrounding buildings all a-rattle. Peter Parker, by this point in his life, was something of a connoisseur of such calamitous cacophonies, and could tell it wasn’t an explosion. Not really: just something big and probably dangerous landing in the middle of a New York street with the force of two large semi trucks dropped from the roof of a six-story building––or something close to that, anyhow.

He changed directions mid-swing and headed for the source, because sane decision-making was always hit or miss, in the life of the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

A woman’s scream followed from the same direction. This time around, it wasn’t a fearful-scream: that was all anger, there, and Pete thought the furious shriek of it sounded a little familiar even. At last landing in range on the right office window, he caught sight of the source of all the ruckus: two figures in the street, one massive and carrying an axe, the other small and blonde with armor that seemed to be designed as much to distract an opponent with her form, as to protect her from physical damage.

“Isn’t that Thor’s... not-friend?” Pete mused. He recalled seeing some live footage of a showdown involving that blonde woman, the shampoo-commercial blond viking Avenger sometimes known as Thor the Thunderer, and the Hulk. It hadn’t looked like much fun, and at that time she’d apparently had a bit of Hulk mind-control going that gave Pete the chills to think about. “Okay, sneaky long-distance strategies it is. At least until... wait, what was that crashing if they aren’t fighting anyone?” He then noticed a wide, but shallow crater some ways behind them both, which had put some impressively large cracks in the asphalt around them. The rest of the force seemed to have been expelled outward, creating some... unique traffic issues. “Aw, man, I hate it when that happens.”

“LOOOKIII!” Amora really did sound _ticked_.

“What’s a Loki?” Pete wondered.

“WHERE ARE YOU, COWARD?!” She had her hands and eyes aglow and seemed to be scanning the crowd as they fled. “I just _know_ that little teleportation-trap was yours!”

Spidey deduced from that, and the crater, that their arrival had been sudden, unexpected, and probably had interrupted something important. Then Amora got some sort of lock on what she was looking for and stalked off back toward the edge of Central Park, where they’d caused such havoc last time, her hulking bodyguard not far behind her, axe at the ready. “I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, LOKI! Now _show yourself!_ ”

Peter followed as unobtrusively as he could, ready to pull any civilians out of the way if things looked too bad, but he didn’t want to give away his position without backup until absolutely necce––“THERE! SKURGE, HAVE AT HIM!” she pointed at what appeared to be a bench near the park, at a bus stop. One man occupied it, dressed in a beautifully tailored charcoal suit, with a green-and gold scarf and an emerald green collared shirt. He was tall, harmless-looking, and ginger.

He also now had Skurge headed for him _way_ faster than Pete thought such a huge mass of muscle and armor could move. “Oh, no no no no!”

The man on the bench had been reading WIRED magazine, seemingly not able to hear Amora’s war-cry. He was also one of few people who hadn’t cleared from the streets as soon as the Sorceress and her lackey had made their loud, abrupt arrival just less than a hundred yards away. He didn’t look up until Skurge was halfway to him. Then he smiled, slow and slightly insane-looking enough that Peter Parker had to hesitate, just in case this Loki guy might be––and yes, suddenly he was in gleaming gold armor and a horned helmet, wielding a glowing blue box that seemed to shoot... well, cold and ice. He turned Skurge from a battering ram into a glacier, stopping him dead just a few feet before him, but didn’t stop with the ice until Skurge was contained in the center of a block five-feet deep on all sides.

For reasons Pete was idly curious about, that caused Loki’s skin to turn blue. It made him think of poisonous dart frogs of about the same color, and a cat with all its fur on end, bristling to look more dangerous, at the same time. _Nature is amazing._ “I think I’ve been watching too much Discovery Channel,” he mused.

Then Loki, whoever and whatever he was, executed an impressive flying leap back, flipping slightly, to dodge a golden blast of magic from Amora.

“YOU ROTTEN JOTUNN BASTARD! I WAS _THIS_ CLOSE!”

“You should know better than to trespass, my dear little Enchantress,” Loki called back, dodging again, then holding her at bay with what looked like an energy shield, grinning madly even as she kept a steady blast focused on him, her eyes glowing burning amber-gold with paler green sparks, in contrast to the deep, uniform emerald of Loki’s counter-measures.

“I could have had his _soul_ and you might stand half a chance at being the favored son, but NO! You had to get _sentimental_ all of a sudden!”

Loki’s grin vanished in favor of a death-glare. “You mistake my motivations for your own. He defeats _you_ so consistently because of _your sentiment_.”

“How dare y-” She cut off with a shriek as a bit of webbing suddenly shot out from a tree about ten yards away and covered her eyes. She raised her hands to pull it off and two more hits locked her hands in place over the web-blindfold, leaving only her mouth still exposed. She used it to scream.

For a brief moment, the dark-haired, be-helmeted man stared at her in shock and mild disbelief. Then he burst out laughing so hard it looked like he might fall over. He stumbled back a half-step, and had to summon a staff just to keep himself upright, leaning his weight on it.

From the tree he’d hidden himself away in, Peter couldn’t help but grin. Crazy-looking though the armored guy was, he had a good laugh: slightly high with an edge of hysteria, but rich and contagious enough Peter found himself giggling too.

“LOKIII!” Amora was still struggling against the webbing, but with her hands tacked where they were, even with Aesir strength she couldn’t quite budge it. “I will SKIN you for this!”

Loki regained a bit of his composure, wiping his eyes as he admired Spider-man’s work. “Oh, rest assured, this isn’t my doing, masterful as it may be.” He glanced at her ankles pointedly, then extended a hand in the direction the projectiles had come from and curled his fingers in what Pete could only think of as a “bring it” gesture.

He complied, and the next shot bound her legs, making her start to fall over.

Obligingly, Loki stepped close enough to catch her about the waist before she could fall and crack her skull on the concrete; while that might be amusing, it was funnier to catch her and hear her start swearing and threatening in old Norsk.

Loki was still stifling the occasional mad giggle even as he caught her, and leaned close to her ear to whisper, “You misunderstand me, Amora. It is hardly sentiment which motivates me.” He laughed a little, more cutting this time. “Two brothers vying for their father’s attention isn’t anything new. Even mortals have made a biblical fest of it all. Unlike those brothers, however, I don’t want to actually _kill_ Thor. I just want to screw with his life, occasionally.”

He then sealed her lips with a silencing spell and lowered her with exaggerated care to the ground before strolling a bit away. Toward the helpful tree-dweller, he called, “Your aid was unneeded, but deeply appreciated, even if for comedic value alone. I’ve not seen anything so satisfactorily ridiculous in centuries.”

Pete leapt from his hiding place in the tree, landing atop a streetlamp Loki stood so conveniently under. A bit of web and he flipped upside-down casually, lowering himself until his face was level with the armored prince’s.

Loki tilted his head a little, taking in the mask’s large lenses, the red and blue suit, and all the rest. “Interesting fashion-choices you’ve made.”

“You should talk. I could hang more than two more helmets on your helmet.”

The trickster snorted, still far more amused than annoyed. “I’m not from this planet; what’s your excuse?”

Pete sniggered despite himself. “You know? I don’t have one.”

“And for this?” Loki jerked his head in Amora’s direction.

“I know you had it handled, but she’s a bit excessively destructive, you know? Good to put a stop to her quick, and Lo! There was opportunity.” He gestured toward her where she still struggled to remove her hands from her face, and appeared to still be shouting, but no sound came out. “She’s, ah, gone kinda quiet. Should we be worried?”

“It’s just a simple silencing spell,” Loki assured.

Sirens had been getting more and more audible as they chatted, but were to be expected and thus easy to ignore, until something cut through over them. “Avengers Assemble!”

Pete’s eyes widened. “Is that-”

“It is.” Loki swore. “If they ask, you didn’t see me.”

“Why?”

The god of lies shot him a look indicating that he disapproved of such impudence.

Pete hesitated. “Just wondering.”

“You wear your mask, and for now, at least-” He snapped his fingers, and again looked like a harmless tall red-haired man, well-groomed and professional-looking, in a fine business suit: no armor, no staff. “-I wear mine. That said, you know _my_ name. What do they call you?” He glanced up as he saw a familiar flash of red-and-gold.

“I’m the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Don’t you watch television?”

“Not when I can avoid it. I do owe you a small boon for this, I think. It’s been... fun.” He offered a surprised, markedly less insane smile, just before he strolled away and hailed a cab, like any true New Yorker getting away from a recently-solved disaster problem. “If you require my aid, call.”

“Don’t I need your cellphone number for that?”

“I’m the god of mischief; of course you don’t,” Loki shot back.

“Interesting,” Peter muttered, then winced as he apparently took his silencing spell with him and Amora screamed for her bodyguard.

Then the superhero heard a distinctly ominous crack from the iceberg formerly known as Skurge, and realized the guy might’ve taken something else too. “Oh, that’s just not cool. Literally, at this rate.” He leapt up to the next nearest lamppost, and the next, making his way toward the ice, ready to tie up another baddie, but someone big, mean and green tackled the still-disoriented Skurge to the ground as soon as he broke free of the ice.

“Is that... Is that the Hulk?!” It took Peter a moment to realize that was his voice own, and that he sounded like _such_ a fanboy.

Then from just over his shoulder he heard, “Yep. That’s him.” Even with a bit of digital distortion, that voice was pretty recognizable; even if the voice hadn’t been, the flashy red-and-gold armor would’ve otherwise cinched it. Iron Man hovered in the air about an arm’s length away behind him, just casually, with arms folded across his chest as he appraised the younger hero. “You must be Spider-Man.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s me. You’re... taller than expected.

Tony laughed, and flipped up the mask, extending a hand. “Tony Stark.”

“Good to meet you.”

“You did a good job, but how the heck did you get Skurge trapped in ice of all things?” Tony asked, watching the Hulk knock the Executioner out cold after only a bit more struggle. “If he’d been thawed any further, getting him trapped again wouldn’t have been any kind of easy. So far as I’ve seen, Aesir recover from hypothermia in about half a minute and just shake off disorientation and weakness both like freezing to death just isn’t their thing. I don’t know what’s in the water around Asgard, but I want some.”

“I––” Peter considered, then chuckled a little it occurred to him: _Magic is the ultimate excuse._ “Well, I caught them by surprise a bit. They were running around, Amora screaming after someone called Loki. She aimed the ice-trick at me, but I dodged in time that it caught Skurge instead.”

“Ice is a new one from her,” Tony mused. “But there’s a reason I can’t stand magic. Inconsistent as hell, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Nice tech there around your wrists, by the way. What kind of fiber do you use?”

“I designed it myself. Spider-silk based, of course.”

“Damn, you sound young. How old are you, kid?”

“Just out of high school, sir.”

Tony grimaced. “Please don’t call me sir. Only my AI is allowed to do that, and that’s because I gave him a posh English accent so it sounds undignified if he doesn’t. You’re in college, then. Science major?”  
“Where else would you find a smartass kid who regularly dresses as a super-hero with spider-powers? I’ve met my own cosplayers, dude, and a couple of them are headed for the same major.”

“Good man.” Tony grinned. “You interested in an internship?”

“YES!” Peter said instantly, his eyes going wide, but then he coughed, and cleared his throat as reality kicked in and he remembered things. Things like how his legal name wasn’t actually Joe Spidermanowitz. “But, uh, also no. It’d be awkward to have an intern in a mask all the time.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Secret identity means that much to you?”

“I have family. And––and other people I really care about, Mr. Stark.”

The younger man’s sheer solemnity caught the billionaire a bit off-guard, clearly. “Well, if you ever change your mind, just climb up to my office and knock, yeah?”

“When are you ever in your office?”

Tony blinked. “Do you _already_ work for me?”

Pete laughed. “Nope. Not at all. Thanks, though. Have fun with the Enchantress and her... uh...”

“Executioner is his title, but just call him Skurge. Or Skurgie. Or Squeegee: he really hates that one. One second, though: you say she was screaming about Loki?” His voice turned more serious, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Uh, yeah, she was. What’s a ‘Loki’ by the way?”

“Thor’s brother. Well... he’s adopted. Last we heard of him, though he was caught impersonating Odin on the throne after an attempted coup by Thor and friends, who thought that the king was being influenced by Thanos, based on what he did with something called an Infinity Stone, but it turned out to be Loki.” He waved a hand vaguely.

“Sounds complicated.”

“Ancient gods who are also shape-shifting illusionists can tend to be.”

“So he wasn’t caught?”

“Well, he was, and he’s supposed to be still imprisoned and, uh... getting some sort of archaic degrees of punishment that made even Thor a little squeamish. Something about his lips being sown shut––again. He’s been locked up about half a year, now, this time.” He looked uneasy about it himself; Tony Stark understood jailing someone, but torture bothered him. A lot. Something about the nervous twitching of the younger hero's fingers made him share more, to see if Spidey's nervousness further increased. "We only just found out about _those_ additional little _conditions_ of Loki’s sentence last month, at the same time that Thor did."

It did increase Spidey's nervousness, and he raised one hand to rub at the back of his own neck awkwardly. "Is that, uh, why Thor isn't with you guys out here, today?"

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "If baby brother broke out of his cage, then the odds are good that Thor was involved, whether intentionally or no." The thunderer’s recent trip to Asgard had primarily been to challenge his father and demand improvement of Loki's imprisonment conditions; although Tony now suspected that the god would return to his fellow Avengers sooner, rather than sometime next week as originally planned. "Him not being here along with his bro, though, suggests unintentional, so far."

Recalling the god’s laughter from before, and the banter, Peter had to wince. “What’d Loki do as, er, king that was so bad anyway?”

“According to Asgard, it was the same thing super-villains do every night, Spidey: try to take over the world. Or multiple worlds, when available.”

“Oh. Super-villain.” A pause. “Thor’s brother is a super-villain?”

“I did mention he’s adopted.”

“ _Spider-man! You’re under arrest for unauthorized vigilantism!_ ” someone shouted over a megaphone.

Peter sighed. “Not again.”

“That’s not a police megaphone,” Tony noted.

The younger hero didn’t ask how Tony could tell that as easily as he could. “It’s Jameson. Doing live reporting again. And attempting a citizen’s arrest... again.”

“Gee, it’s like he really doesn’t like you, or something.”

“Well, he’s competing in volume with Amora now, and it’ll only get worse the longer I stick around. Later, Iron Man!” With a casual _thwip_ , Pete went airborne and started swinging away from building to building.

“ _Ladies and gentlemen: Spider-man, fleeing the scene of the crime again!_ ”

Casually, Tony made his way over, and hovered down to the ground quiet as he could, to land right behind J. Jonah Jameson with a light clank. The news personality stiffened and spun on his heel a little wide-eyed. “My god, Tony Stark. It’s an honor!” He extended a hand.

With his most blatantly false polite smile, Tony shook it, being just a little less careful than he usually was when someone thought it a bright idea to shake hands with the suit. The increased tightness around Jameson’s eyes and strained quality of his smile was almost as satisfying as the stricken look on Jameson’s face when Tony said, “So you’re arresting people for vigilantism these days, I hear?”

“Well–– _unauthorized_ vigilantism. You Avengers work with S.H.I.E.L.D. don’t you?”

Tony decided not to dignify that question with an answer. He had made all of his apologies after the incidents with Hydra, and the abuses of power that his own tech had enabled within the corrupted old S.H.I.E.L.D., and really didn’t want go into any of the bullshit arguments he was still continuously having with the new S.H.I.E.L.D. about not further arming them. _Once bitten, Phil, twice shy, and I’ve been burned and bitten more than once by this organization you insist on reconstructing. You show me your new S.H.I.E.L.D. is better at containment and keeping shit together longer than a couple months, and then we’ll talk. So far your track record is spottier than mine was, and I had Vanko to deal with. Also, I really don’t want to know why you thought just telling Bruce not to tell me about your Kree situation would actually work._

With an effort, Tony returned himself to the present before the brief hitch in his breathing from sheer ire could be noticed.

“I’d authorize him if I thought he’d let me, but really I don’t think he needs anyone’s permission to help out like this, and he has a desire for privacy I’m more than willing to respect. Anyway, about the incident here,” Iron Man began.

Cameras––not just Jameson’s––fixed on him and started rolling.

Jameson shook off his disconcertion and started rattling off the usual standard Avengers interview questions while Hawkeye and Black Widow helped S.H.I.E.L.D. cart away Amora and the unconscious Skurge, and the Hulk vanished with eerie ease, deeper into Central Park after Captain America handed him a bundle of fresh Bruce-sized clothing.

From across the street, having left behind an illusion of himself climbing into a cab earlier while his real self lingered out of sight, Loki watched the Avengers with apparent bored interest, though his gaze fixed more than usual on one Tony Stark. He drew a little closer to listen better, easily blending in with the small crowd of reporters. His face was still his own, as were his eyes, though he wore a goatee, and his disguise’s curly ginger hair made him appear far fairer than his usual black. It was one of his favorite sorts of masks: subtle enough that only the truly _interesting_ and observant sort tended to give it more than a second glance.

When Tony’s eyes briefly fixed on him in the crowd, his eyes narrowed, just a little, and Loki smiled at him, charming and just a little wicked. Then Jameson said something that distracted them both.

“What is your opinion on the public menace known as Spider-man?”

Tony looked thoughtful. “He took down Skurge and Amora, apparently on his own, and made a tidier job of it than _we_ did last time that happened, so I have to give the kid some real credit. I don’t think he’s any more of a public menace than I am.” He stopped himself there a moment with a  grimace. “Bad example. Let me rephrase-” He smiled at the laugh that earned from most of the crowd. “-he’s no more a public menace than _Captain America_. I’ve been called a menace too often myself to compare Spider-man to me. I talked to him a bit, after all this, and he’s a bit young, but clever, and I offered him a job, so take that as you will. For the record, he turned me down, but I will survive the novelty of such a rejection,” he promised solemnly.

Loki raised an eyebrow at that, thoughtful, and slipped away with a half-smile, not quite aware of the way Tony Stark’s eyes looked for him, and followed him away when he couldn’t get another look at that too-familiar face.

 

~~

 

Ever since the invasion of New York, most of the problems on Tony Stark’s personal top-ten list, began and ended with the Avengers not quite being able to keep track of some of their imported-from-off-earth super-villains. The only things that made the events of this day particularly stand out, were Spider-Man’s involvement, and the puzzle of Amora and Loki being back to opposing one another.

Thor had tried to explain to them that the Enchantress and his brother had a habit of alternately working together with affectionate camaraderie, and having huge arguments over seemingly trivial slights and insults for a few months at a time whenever they disagreed with one another, all while showing absolutely no un _feigned_ romantic interest in one another, to the perplexity of many. Tony liked to think of that as how he and Pepper operated best too, since their final catastrophic break-up just over three months ago, when their attempts at romance had proven less powerful than both their bonds of friendship, and their mutual co-dependence on one another personally and professionally.

Saying “they’re like siblings, then” to Thor, on the subject of Loki and not-Thor, seemed like a good way to accidentally turn the Thunderer’s intro-briefing-about-Enchantress speech into a source of acute angst that day, though, so Tony had politely refrained.

This day’s Avengers debriefing, in the wake of the Central Park episode with Amora, went the way of many arguments before it. Tony could already feel his temples beginning to throb painfully from the sheer expectation, five minutes before Steve’s inevitable implications of too much preventative power being a bad thing, whenever there was talk of better city-wide protection and reporting systems for stuff like this.

It was because Bruce had used the word “algorithm” again. It seemed to trigger Hydra-related thoughts in Steve, these days, no matter how harmlessly it came up.

“It would just be facial recognition for known non-terrestrial threats, Steve,” the biochemist insisted. “There were over a dozen different cameras aimed at Amora in the time it took for her to get from where she and Skurge landed, to the park.”

“Admittedly, the access S.H.I.E.L.D. and JARVIS both have to private communications information in civilian devices is already really illegal,” Natasha pointed out casually. “How much more like secret police do you want us to be, Stark?” Her stare was flinty and her voice sounded colder than the winds of a Siberian winter.

“See, she gets it,” Tony said. “And she can say that, and I’m immediately clear on how I need to fix it. Months of arguing and okay, Nat, credit to you, for hitting the nail on the head.” He rubbed both hands over his face, swearing at length, as soon as he finished saying it.

“How did you not get this before?” Steve all but growled.

“It’s different, thinking of it in terms of police,” the inventor said slowly, “but that’s what it would turn into. Something paranoid and a bit too likely to turn on minority groups that don’t actually pose threats, but share traits in common with individuals who are part of other groups who do, or who are considered dangerous ideologically rather than practically,” he added further, shooting Steve a pointed look. “You and I agree fine when it’s practical, rather than ideological. And even ideologically, we agree on what constitutes innocence pretty well, in this sort of case.”

The captain nodded firmly. “We do.” He still sounded annoyed.

“That sucks, though,” Tony sighed, “because Amora was looking for Loki.”

“And the only way we found him last time he was playing games down here,” Bruce pointed out, with reluctance, “was the illegal phone hacking on a massive scale.”

A round of grimaces went around the table.

“So,” Tony said. “We may still have to resort to that, but I can make certain no private data is kept for longer than it takes to process facial-recognition and location info. It’s not ideal, and still technically a violation of privacy, but no more so than necessary to track down Loki?”

“I still don’t like it,” Clint said. “It’s always bothered me.”

“Us,” Natasha concurred.

Bruce and Steve both grimaced in commiseration.

“We can still find anything that’s actually put on social media,” the biochemist pointed out, “by legal means.”

The inventor shook his head, but conceded, “Okay.”

“You’ll really let go of this access?” the super-soldier asked, disbelieving.

“I’ll stop using it, but I’m genuinely not capable of making it impossible for myself,” Tony countered. “I can get into and out of almost any system on this planet with enough effort, but I can swear to you I won’t access those channels, since it’s both technically illegal and admittedly if the government had this power, it’d scare me out of my mind, so why should the general public trust _us_ with it, honestly?” He shrugged. “To them, we’re basically vigilantes the government can’t actually stop, and we happen to still be popular for the whole world-saving thing, but that’s it. The only real reason people think of us as super- _heroes_ instead of super- _villains_ is... dependent entirely on how good or bad we handle stuff like this, whether it’s in the spotlight or not.”

“Absolutely,” Natasha concurred. “I never thought I’d hear you say it though.”

“Honestly? Look, if I thought I could tell the difference between sounding like Iron Man and sounding like a super-villain, I’d probably be under the mistaken impression that I maybe don’t need you guys.” He looked at all of them pointedly. “Because I’d be a straight-up super-villain. I think we already established that was a risk, with me, after the Insight debacle alone. So... I need you guys, and I need to listen to you. I’m doing so, but that said: if we rule out the facial-recognition angle, we’re limited to more interference-prone stuff.”

“Our seismic monitoring systems did detect Amora and Skurge’s arrival,” Clint said, “and our information about city projects scheduled and minor disasters around town ruled out non-villainous causes effectively... for only the second time so far.”

“It did match our other legal data outlets fine, though,” Bruce mused. “It was on Twitter and Instagram pretty much instantly.”

“I still don’t understand that,” Steve muttered.

“It’s good for us in densely populated places like New York, but when Loki first showed up on earth, he wasn’t exactly in the most accessible, public and urban area,” the inventor said. “We aren’t ready to implement anything seismically yet; there’s too many natural phenomena that interfere. Just satellite imaging, and regular scans from Stark Industries satellite fleets in particular that keep track of very specific energy surges globally, haven’t cut it in the past. Social media is still only halfway reliable, and even then only in cities. We can’t have our eyes everywhere... next step is calling in aid of a magic nature, because none of my other solutions so far can’t be stolen or co-opted by other organizations around the world lately, which is a perpetual work in progress. Suggestions for other ways we might be able to detect the next planet-wide threat the likes of Loki and Amora dropping down to earth?”

An awkward and protracted silence followed.

“You’re all seriously comfortable going with _nothing_ except what we’ve got legally?” Tony asked carefully, sounding himself uneasy.

“More comfortable than letting any innocent civilians wind up targets if they wouldn’t otherwise have to be,” Steve insisted.

The inventor held his gaze for a long moment, then looked over the others at the table, each of them nodding when they met his eye. “Okay, then.”

“Amora mention anything about why she’s here?” asked Bruce.

“She might have said something about Thor’s soul being hers, which honestly seems a bit out of character for her,” Natasha said. “Her last displays of power, down on earth, turned out to include alliances with Loki and the last couple were efforts to prove she wasn’t interested in making Thor her pet anymore, and instead just focused on either killing him or making him miserable for a while educationally. That was all while Loki was playing king on the throne of Asgard in Odin’s form. So... who’s turned her against him, and gotten her infatuated with Thor again? Loki wouldn’t let us catch her if he thought he could fix it himself and have her owe him that debt.”

“She wanted his soul,” Clint said. “That’s not really a romantic thing. If she wasn’t also planning to keep the body. It might’ve just been crossing a line, for Loki. Maybe if he’s fresh out, he’s looking to be on Big Brother’s good side this time?”

“After the last round of faking his own death, I’m pretty sure Thor isn’t going to fall for yet another redemption-trap,” Tony pointed out. “Especially not since there was the Infinity Stone thing, which it sounds like he almost bartered to the same guy who wanted the tesseract, I thought.”

“No,” the archer murmured. “It was just put close to him. “Thor told me the only reason Loki wasn’t under control like I was, by that guy, was because Loki managed to trick them, somehow, in a way that left some serious scars. He failed his mission. He wouldn’t go back to making direct deals with him, and I knew it, so I asked Thor before he left about that part. He said there were pieces left still infected by Thanos’ control, but they’d gone dormant after Loki shed most of the rest.” He made a face. “That’s about how he tried to explain it anyway. Like a virus.”

“Like a cancer,” Natasha murmured. “The mind-control that Loki’s scepter inflicted was based on reality-distortion, under study. It’s an insidious variety of telepathic construct. For most normal humans, it doesn’t stick after a good concussion or other mental recalibration, so long as the initial infection is mild, like yours, Clint, but in cases like Dr. Selvig’s, where it had further exposure to additional... growth factors, like staring directly into the tesseract, it buries hooks deeper, and the deeper they go the more subtle the deceptions can get.”

“We remember what they had to do to Selvig,” Bruce murmured, “just to get him to stop accidentally connecting his mind to the tesseract.”

Another round of grim expressions and pointed silence passed around the table for a beat or two.

“Hooks buried in Loki’s mind deep enough he couldn’t remove them, or possibly could not even see them, would require a lot more than that, to burn them out,” the Black Widow said softly, again the usual professional certainty she used to relay information about red in her ledger, about which she didn’t actually wish to go into detail.

“Maybe half a year’s worth?” Tony asked, not liking the idea at all suddenly. “There would have to be another way. Even Thor said his lot have trouble surviving that sort of thing for too much longer than Selvig had to.”

“Loki’s a mage,” Natasha reminded him. “They’re... sturdier. Psychically. They have to be. Especially dream-walkers, and he’s that too.”

“I’m sorry, I have to ask how you know all this?” Bruce inquired.

“I used to be responsible for keeping track of Dr. Stephen Strange, for S.H.I.E.L.D., back when his title as ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ was still fresh,” she explained. “It was a crash course in psychedelic metaphysics, let me tell you. Well, the mind control I saw in action elsewhere before that, but I didn’t understand most of it until that gig.”

“We should invite him,” Steve said.

“He turned us down already,” Tony huffed.

“We should have someone other than Tony invite him,” the super-soldier corrected. “Maybe?”

Natasha shook her head at him. “He won’t forget. He never liked Howard either.”

“Yeah, that didn’t help,” the inventor muttered, still glaring at Steve.

“Sorry,” the captain muttered, after a brief frown.

“Are we really assuming Loki was actually who stopped her from taking Thor’s soul, and not someone else?” Clint asked brightly. “She could be bullshitting us.”

“Who else would be both capable, and inclined to help?” Tony asked.

The archer hummed. “Yeah, I can’t think of anyone. Still important not to go on a wild goose chase for Loki, though, until we have more data.”

“Good point,” Steve concurred. “We should still mention that Amora implicated him for it. Name-dropping in the news does seem to increase how fast things appear on social media.”

“Maybe just a general ‘look out for Asgardians’ and include Loki’s photograph, but I wouldn’t go mentioning the name of a would-be global invader when Amora’s more small-time in the public consciousness,” Natasha said. At the looks they gave her, she coughed quietly, and added, “I might’ve asked Pepper directly, on the way here. She’s way better at PR than we are.”

“Oh good, she’s talking to us again?” Clint asked.

“She’s talking to _me_ , but the rest of you boys other than Tony still are on thin ice.”

“How are _you_ not?” the archer asked Tony.

“I did a lot of groveling,” the inventor responded, without shame. “A lot. Also I might have funded a modern art museum project of some sort, amongst other things. Mostly, though, it was the groveling.”

“Sorry I missed that,” Natasha said, amused.

“Private show, darling. Invitation-only,” Tony mocked.

“And you, Nat?” Bruce asked lightly.

She only smirked, little and sly, and said nothing.

Tony grinned and mused aloud, “Where are we starting the bets on when Thor will come home early?”

Steve sighed at him, even as Clint made the first bet and Natasha got out her book and a pen, writing it down.

 

~~

 

For Gamora, it had all started with a charred and half-dead god of chaos landing in one of the gardens of Thanos’ sanctuary, but she had believed that perusal of the charred remains of the entire Chitauri fleet alongside the Other had been the end of that particular tale. Well, she had almost hoped, but hope wasn’t her strong point anymore than belief was.

So when the queen of Helheim appeared near the end of one of the Guardians of the Galaxy’s most recent battles, Gamora was only a little surprised. The others were a bit more surprised when she knelt and bowed her head respectfully to the queen, soon as the corpse who had announced the Queen of Helheim’s presence vanished back through the portal Hela herself had just strode through. She wore dark armor, with hints of greens and purples like the oily sheen of raven’s feathers, and a mask.

“Kneel, you idiots. Everyone respects the agents of Mistress Death, lest they meet her all the sooner,” the assassin snapped at them.

Groot knelt, as did Peter and Drax, looking a bit confused by the sudden suspension of the chaotic whirlwind of dimensional distortion slowly retreating from them, like the calm at the eye of the accidentally-created pocket of reality-storm was somehow being expanded for Hela’s purposes.

Which, of course, it was.

Rocket took in the changes from his perch on Groot’s shoulder, and remained where he was. When the goddess arched a curious eyebrow at him visibly through her black mask, with its gracefully trailing antler-like protrusions, the raccoon-like creature only snorted at her. “I didn’t ask to be made, so I dunno why I should respect my eventual unmaking much, to be frank.”

Hela smirked at him in genuine amusement. “A fair enough sentiment; in any case, we might as well be on familiar terms, you and I, Rocket, for you have been to my kingdom a few times, whether you remember it or no. It was an unfortunate side-effect of several of your procedures.”

Rocket shivered a little at that, ears resting back flat against his skull as he reluctantly bowed his head a little, just for a moment.

Nodding her own acceptance of that rare iota of genuine reverence shown from such a stubborn creature, the goddess then returned her attention to the assassin amongst their number. “Is there particular reason––stolen child of Thanos’ raising that you are, Lady Gamora––for your traveling alongside the son of the last known Avatar of Life?”

Gamora’s eyes went very wide. “What?”

“I see you know what that means, at least a little.”

“Nothing more than rumors spread amongst some of the more...” She visibly hesitated. “Amongst those who spend too much time, staring into the shadows of things, and _between_ shadows, and worlds.”

“Wait, which one of us is a what now?” Peter asked.

“Your mortal mother was more important than she ever truly knew, until it was very much too late. It is a good thing, Captain Quill, that you did not take her hand when it was offered, or she would have been corrupted by forces far worse than those of Mistress Death, and infinitely more devoid of mercy. She might have lived, but not as herself, and you would not be yourself, either, but quite a powerful monster, given the other half of your family inheritance, too.”

“H-how do you know-” the half-human choked.

“She rests in my kingdom, peacefully. Your kin do as well, Drax.”

“Sympathetic crap like that might work on them, but do you really think we’ll think of a queen of the dead as being not-evil?” Rocket asked blithely.

“Death is neither good nor evil,” Gamora said. “Death is where we all go. It is where we are all equal... except some of Mistress Death’s favorites, perhaps.”

“You would know, would you not?” Hela mused, touching the assassin’s face lightly with a few gloved finger-tips. Under her mask,the goddess’ face was visibly of a bicolor scheme: a dark half in shades of blue with whorling and intricate lattice-like designs of stripes and spirals, and a paler half fair as could be. Her hair, too, matched: dark and sleek on the darker side, pale red-gold in wild waves on the lighter side. Her mask obscured her eyes, making them both seem to glow white. “She favors you.”

“She favors Thanos far more. She would never ally with me against him.”

“To save his very soul, she might,” the goddess countered.

“I would not ally with her for that,” Gamora growled. “He deserves to _burn_.”

“I said his soul. Not his _life_ , notably.”

Both Drax and the assassin perked up a bit at that, while Peter and Rocket exchanged uneasy looks.

“When the Avatar of Life dies, the weight of that title and the duties which go with it shift to another worthy vessel on the same world as the last Avatar, and they will be a threat to the universe even deadlier than the Avatar of Death, for unchecked growth amongst the living and a lack of death leads to mutation, to perpetual and inescapable sickness, to madness and horror, spreading across the whole of our universe like a cancer. Neither can be allowed to kill the other at a certain time and place, and the only way to be rid of the threat forever is to ensure that the Avatar of Life is destroyed, and the Avatar of Death too, in any other place and time outside the location fate would try to lead them to, aided by whispers from things _outside_. Those whispers are notoriously loud, in his Sanctuary, are they not?” Hela inquired.

Gamora swallowed tightly. “They are. All of his... _children_... heard it. Whether we saw ‘the light’ as well, or not. Not many of us could resist seeking out the light, after hearing the whispers in dreams, but I was converted further from the heart of Sanctuary than most. So were Nebula, and several others. Thanos––believed that a very _few_ of his children should be unmarked by the ‘light of his cause’ to act as impartial advisors and strategists, and to manipulate others such as Kree like Ronan, who are able to detect psychic corruption, and would have never agreed to work with such a contagious force in the midst of their ranks as that reality-distortion.”

“So you do know the nature of Sanctuary, then,” Hela mused.

“I... do not,” the assassin said. “I only know that I never wish to return there. I would rather die.” She tilted her head up illustratively, baring her throat to the goddess. “Whatever force is on the other side, I want nothing to do with it.”

“It is a corrupt universe, whose Avatar of Life succeeded at slaying Thanos in the part of Sanctuary where the walls are thinnest and the architecture of history has created a kill-switch, however accidentally, for all of its own existence,” Hela explained. “They wish to spread their infection, but I am disinclined to let them, as you might imagine, being who and what I am.”

“I don’t suppose this is something we might get paid for?” Peter asked.

“I’m hardly so angelic as that,” Hela said. “Are you not the Guardians of the Galaxy? Are you not heroes, these days, and inclined to save this place you all live in?” Her smile was unkind.

“Why should we?” Rocket demanded.

“Because two amongst your number are already curiosities, to Thanos, and soon the Cancer-verse will break through into our universe, at the outskirts of Sanctuary, and they will be after you, too,” the goddess assured. “It is in your best interest to stop their plans and banish them back to their own universe, before they make your lives very difficult. You should not have stepped into this storm, Captain Quill, if you so wished to stay out of their sights.”

“I didn’t know it was even a problem! I barely knew my dad was an alien, let alone that my mom had some cosmic significance, but it sort of explains a few things,” Peter rambled a bit. “You know anything about my dad, maybe?”

Hela smiled. “That information I might provide, but only for a price.”

“Don’t,” Gamora warned.

“What price?” Peter asked.

“Your soul.”

“Uh... pass,” the thief muttered.

“Then I recommend that you make your way back to Earth,” Hela responded, “before all the souls in the universe, yours included, are put forever beyond the reach of Death herself, and the very fabric of our existence sickens, and corrupts just as tissues in your own mother’s body did, stealing her health and her life from her. Cancer is the only victor, when Death is defeated.”

Quill choked audibly. “You want me to what?!”

“Not only _you_ ,” the goddess corrected. “ _All_ of you.”

All color drained from the thief’s face almost immediately.

“Were you not recommending that we should visit your native world, at one point, Peter Quill?” Drax inquired.

Slowly looking from the Destroyer’s quirked brow, to Gamora’s sudden suspicious glare, to land at last on Rocket and Groot, Starlord admitted, “Uh... there’s sort of a good reason I stopped suggesting that once we actually became friends, and most of them are all the same reasons I only visit the place sometimes to get repair components for my cassette player at pawn shops. And the Mutant Registration Act is one of the least of them.”

The others blinked in incomprehension, except Hela, who grinned. “Humanity does tend to have such problems with those too different from themselves.”

“Like Ronan?” Gamora asked quietly, her eyes narrowing.

“Unfortunately some of them are about that severe in censure of non-humans, or even other humans of different color-schemes than their own, but most of them aren’t allowed near weaponry beyond pretty primitive projectile guns,” Peter reassured quickly. “Except the militant ones, but I’m sure we can avoid them.” He looked again at Groot and his frown deepened further. “ _Some_ of them. I can fucking hope,” he sighed.

The others were all staring at him in a deadly stern manner.

“I told you it was a planet of outlaws. Why do you think we have so many? Because the laws themselves could use some serious damn work, is why,” the thief sighed. “That said, if you’d gone there without me at any point, the culture-shock would’ve probably resulted in a lot of chaos and destruction, but it wouldn’t be _you guys_ I’d worry about, because you’re way more capable of doing a lot of damage to them than they are of hurting you, pretty much. Most Terrans are sort of fragile and squishy compared to you guys, and don’t even have proper space-travel.”

The others looked more understanding, then.

“I had forgotten they were quite that backward,” Gamora said.

Peter frowned, but couldn’t really argue.

“That is because it is a playing ground for gods and monsters, or has been, in the distant past,” Drax remarked. “It would not do, for their games to be interrupted by Terrans doing anything so advanced as joining galactic politics in their region, and thus bringing their planet under the protection of other outside forces and laws.”

“Their civilizations are quite sprawling now, like vastly overgrown gardens of archaic culture and society in a few thousand different flavors,” Hela added. “The gods left them untended for quite some time, and they are much changed. How you know of the Earth’s more ancient past, Drax, I do wonder.”

The Destroyer inclined his head respectfully, but didn’t elaborate.

“I had wondered why Thanos seemed so interested in such a world,” Gamora murmured, “even after that trickster lost him the Tesseract.”

“My father does have a way of making allies who empower him regret ever underestimating his trickiness,” said the goddess.

“Your _father_?” Gamora sounded distinctly alarmed. “Your _father_ stole from Thanos?”

“Tricked him, got free of him, stole the Infinity Stone that Thanos was after, and got it handed back to Asgard,” Hela confirmed. “Then he broke out of prison, trapped the king and impersonated him for awhile until the last remaining hooks of reality distortion in his mind manipulated him into placing another dangerously close to Thanos’ reach, which opened him up for a political coup to depose him, and imprison him again, as well as burn out all the last traces of the mad Titan’s influence from his mind, for the sake of all of Asgard remaining free of such corruption, notoriously sticky as it can tend to be.” She shrugged elegantly. “He’s free again, now, of course.”

Gamora nodded, her expression now a mixture of thoughtfulness and cold calculation. “I see. Why not send _him_ on this quest, then?”

“He is weakened, just as he was upon his first landing in Sanctuary, after his escape from Asgard, and he is carrying an important relic for me. I cannot go to him outside of dreams without attracting unwanted attention, and these days, my kingdom is a place of very restless dead, and requires near-constant tending.”

“Who is her dad?” Peter stage-whispered loudly.

“I am Hel Lokisdottir, Queen of Helheim,” the goddess responded.

“Aw, shit,” the thief groaned. “Loki? Does he have dark hair and a weird armor theme, too, with more green? Because if so, I know that guy.”

“How?” Gamora snapped.

“He was offering a lot of money for some Terran blood, and once I met him, he actually upped the price further, okay?” Peter insisted.

“You were the source of that blood?” the assassin almost shrieked.

“Oh good,” Hela said. “At last, you all have an appropriate sense of urgency.”

“ _We_ don’t,” Rocket said, sounding bored.

“I am Groot.”

“Quill’s blood was tested by the Other after Loki used it for the spell-work he needed to travel to Earth, and to the Tesseract. Something about those test results caused him to murder a few hundred Chitauri before the invasion even began,” Gamora said. “He was enraged that the Other hadn’t told him the results before Loki left, leaving the blood source hidden from us. Tell me you haven’t donated your DNA elsewhere and more visible or hack-able to them, Quill,” she all but snarled.

“Well. Aside from all of the various prisons I’ve been in and the Nova Corps?”

“We need to go to Earth,” the assassin said, very slowly, enunciating every syllable with slightly exaggerated precision, “because the only people Thanos’ forces are going to be gunning for more enthusiastically than traitors like myself, are any with connections to the previous Avatar of Life. We need to go to Earth, and find the new one, and neutralize them before they are converted to Thanos’ cause. Now.”

“I will happily fight alongside you, against such foes,” Drax rumbled.

“Why us, though? I’m still unclear on this, here,” Rocket said.

“Are not at least two amongst your number even more eager for a chance to spill Thanos’ blood than even my father, these days?” Hela inquired.

Gamora and Drax exchanged eloquently vicious glances, then looked back to the goddess and nodded.

“Are you not the very people who successfully wielded an Infinity Stone and destroyed Ronan the Accuser?”

The others also nodded that time, a bit reluctantly.

“I am Groot,” Groot rumbled agreeably, while nodding.

“Gamora was formerly called kin by Thanos, however deludedly; Captain Quill was kin to the late previous Avatar of Life; you, Drax, are a vengeful lunatic; your engineer here is an exceptionally clever and defiant former servant to long-gone masters,” she smiled when Rocket looked a bit stunned to hear her refer to him so, “and you also fight alongside one Groot, who is all made of some of the most stubborn living plant matter in the universe.” Hela stepped just close enough to touch Groot’s arm, her eyes glowing a bit brighter for a moment. “You are ideal to fight this battle, which cannot be won by direct conflict, sly and so much more harmless-looking than a proper army.”

Groot stared down at her for a very long moment, even as her touch retreated and she stepped back again to meet Gamora’s stare. The tree goliath raised one hand, and with a bit of an effort, grew a single pale flower, which he picked, and proffered to Hela, who looked back at him and smiled with an oddly touched, almost innocently surprised and happy look. “I am Groot.”

Said the furry one on his shoulder, “Please don’t tell me this is a crush.”

“I _am Groot_ ,” Groot protested.

“Show of _respect_? You?” Rocket sounded openly disbelieving.

Before Hela could protest, Groot tucked it behind her ear. The goddess seemed surprised, staring at its petals out of the corner of her eye. “It’s not withering.”

Quill went to ask about that, but Drax covered his mouth and shook his head. When the thief shot Gamora a pleading look, she rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘land of the dead’ at him.

Starlord underwent sudden revelation, “Ohhhh, right,” thankfully without a sound.

“I am Groot.”

The goddess shot the tall tree-creature a slightly stunned look. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Groot then started to turn around.

“Hey! Hey, where do you think _you’re_ goin’?!” Rocket demanded.

“I think he’s heading back towards the ship,” Drax answered, then turned his head, suddenly recalling the perils formerly making that retreat so inadvisible, only to suddenly cry out, “Haha! The storm has retreated at last from the path between us and our ship, my friends!”

Swearing ensued from the raccoon-like engineer as he was carried away.

“What’s in this for you?” Peter asked the goddess, as soon as Drax’s hand dropped form his mouth. “Well, aside from the fact you sort of rule the land of the dead, or one of them, and if people stop dying I guess that’s bad for business... still, there’s got to be more to this, here.”

“My father has promised to give a particular relic to me which will make diplomacy with my neighbors much, much easier,” Hela assured. “Once he is done with it, anyway. He is convinced it is one of few artifacts within his reach capable of damaging Thanos severely enough to be worth stealing in the first place. The sooner this series of disasters ends, the sooner I get what I want, and a more stable kingdom, both.”

“There’s still more to it,” Gamora said. “You remind me too much of him.”

The goddess’ grin only widened, at that, and she snapped her fingers at them.

The whole reality storm vanished in a whorl of improbable bruised colors and spiraling movement and painful lights, before suddenly clearing away from around them and leaving them alone on a now-empty world with their previous quest now a moot point. The Guardians of the Galaxy also found themselves suddenly all sitting in their ship, just as Groot climbed back aboard.

An awkward pause followed, to the sounds of Rocket continuing to curse.

“To Earth, then,” Drax announced boldly. “Let us fly!”

“I’m so going to regret this,” Peter sighed, but started preparing for take-off.

“Wait, how did you bastards get back in here so fast?”

“Magic,” Gamora said. “Get used to it. I’m afraid we’re only going to see more.” She too began engaging some of the ship’s controls, starting to map out their course.

Rocket shook his head. “Great. Magic. Last time I ran into magic, I had pink fur for almost a year. If that happens again, I will blow each of you up in alphabetical order, except Groot.”

Peter turned to shoot him an unimpressed look, and deliberately didn’t warn the raccoon-shaped engineer right before the whole ship jarred upon breaching the atmosphere, sending Rocket tumbling with a wild yell. “No blowing up your friends, Rocket. C’mon, let’s hit Earth. Gamora, where should I land, on Earth, do you think?”

“Loki planned his invasion around a place called New York City,” she recommended, though she raised a half-questioning eyebrow. “It may not be where he now is, of course...”

“NYC? Damn, there’s no way to land us there in any kind of subtle way,” the thief whined. He clearly gave it a lot of thought for several moments, then sighed, “Yeah, gonna regret every minute of this.”

“Every second?” Gamora asked.

“Starting from when we land, probably. This is gonna be such a mess,” he muttered, and threw the ship into gear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider-man makes the acquaintance of an irate god of thunder, who eventually explains his foul mood to Tony Stark. Also, Doc Ock crashes a party that happens to have a particular guest whose name isn't on the guest list, and she's amused. The Guardians of the Galaxy get within range of earth, and Peter Quill remembers how much he misses pie. Also: Gamora has a strict no-bullshit policy, and pheromones between alien races can be tricky things.

It was about three days after the Loki-at-the-park incident that things all went a bit sideways on a certain Spider-man. First, it had gone from a bright sunny day with clear skies to a torrential downpour. For another, there was a lot of lightning and other weather hazards that a little spider shouldn’t be out in, particularly web-slinging in and thus maximizing the likelihood of his own being struck, but given the whole mess had started mid-swing while he was busy chasing a mugger, he didn’t have much choice.

He _wasn’t_ letting someone like this get away again.

Of course, the fact that the lighting seemed to be _aiming_ for him or something, rather unnaturally, was deeply disconcerting, and not at all helpful in the not-getting-flash-fried department.

“Time to hurry this up, then,” Peter announced to the city at large, and started keeping his swingings lower to the ground near human and vehicle traffic both, interspersing it with long leaps from storefront to storefront, bouncing off of the sturdiest parts of various awnings there. Funny how the lightning stopped when he got near too many people. He’d just managed to web the mugger to an alleyway wall when someone crashed to earth behind him and the air suddenly tasted a lot like ozone. With every hair on his body trying its best through the suit to stand on end due to static and nerves both, Peter slowly turned and found himself face to chest with an irate god of thunder. Tilting his head up slowly, he met the look Thor was leveling at him, and the sight was a harrowing one.

Suddenly he felt like he understood vikings a lot better, just from being on the receiving end of that menacing glower. Clearly they had taken it to heart and used its fury against their enemies.

“Oh,” he said, the syllable a bit broken in the middle, a bit creaky-sounding. “Uhm. You must be Thor.” A pause. “Okay, I give up: how does your hair still look that good in all this rai-”

“You lied to my fellow Avengers, little bug.”

“Spider, not bug. Bug implies insect. Spiders are arachnids.” _Pete, there are times when it really might be best to shut up instead of giving the intimidating Norse god a lesson in accurate scientific nomenclature._

Thor shot him an odd look, and demanded, “Why did you lie?”

“Sorry, I’m still stuck on the my lying par-hhghk.” Okay. Thor’s grip on the suit was threatening the integrity of the threading as the god picked him up off the ground by the front of it just about at his collarbones. “Jeez, can you cut a guy some slack!”

“Amora could not have encased the Executioner in ice. It is beyond her abilities, especially in a single blow.”

“Oh. _That_ lie.” He winced. _Smooth one, Parker._

“Put the boy down, Thor,” called a voice from significantly further down the alley. “Really, brother. Usually you choose your fights more fairly. I am _disappointed_ in you.”

“Loki?” Thor dropped Peter immediately and raised Mjolnir in a cautious manner, but his expression was a mixture of relief and concern and unease, all so clear they might as well have been flashing neon signs of brotherly care.

Peter took the opportunity to cling to the brick wall high up enough to be out of easy reach for the thunderer, and opposite the mugger he’d trapped, who seemed to have stopped giggling at him and started to look nervous again. Narrowing his eyes a bit, Peter shot a bit more web at the criminal, covering the guys eyes and ears.

“Thank you, Spider-man. Common criminals aren’t exactly the usual audience I go for.” Yep, that was Loki. Sounding a little more evil than before. Then again, he might not be too aware that Thor hadn’t known about the whole torture thing until relatively recently. He still wasn’t visible; although he sounded like he’d drawn closer.

“I sense this is a family sort of issue, so maybe I should just, ah...”

“Stay where you are,” Thor warned.

“Jeez, you’re touchy.”

“Loki, please. Had I known-”

“I’m _aware_ of your most recent excuse, Thor. It borders on feasible, I admit. Perhaps Odin really wouldn’t be so blind to your soft heart as to let you know the state in which I was being kept,” Loki snarled, and this time his voice seemed to come from everywhere, or maybe just in their own heads. “Your questionable response to the discovery might even be why he failed to inform you of my escape _earlier_ than this day. Either way, I’m sure he found your _unwavering faith_ _in him_ as touching as ever.”

“Loki, I-”

“ _Leave_ ,” Loki rumbled, and the ground under Thor’s feet cracked suddenly. “I have paid my debts to Asgard, and to Jotunnheim. I have no intention to harm this world for now, but I also will not accept your interference in my affairs here, and if you pursue me, I may very well change my mind about that altogether.”

After a long hesitation, the thunderer glanced at Peter questioningly.

“What are you looking at me for?”

“You saw him,” Thor said softly, full of frustration and unease alike now. “Is my brother well?”

Peter considered, tilting his head to one side. “He certainly didn’t look like he’d just got out of, ah, questionable imprisonment conditions. He looked whole? I guess?” He shrugged, and added as an afterthought, “And capable of laughing at a good prank.”

It was the last part that genuinely eased some of the tension in Thor’s stance and the concern in his expression. “I will not give up on you, brother. Whether you believe my words or no, I only worry for you.”

“Hope springs eternal yes, for you as much as anyone. And so, of course, does stupidity,” Loki shot back.

Thor winced, but started whirling his hammer in preparation to throw it.

“I will keep your words in mind, Thor,” Loki added, with biting reluctance, causing Thor’s movements to trip up for a moment.

“You were a fine king.”

To that, the trickster could apparently come up with no reply.

After almost half a minute of uncomfortable silence, the god of thunder smiled briefly, sadly, and took off.

Peter stared up after him. “Well. Uhm. That was, uh...” Then Loki appeared, floating in thin air as though perched on a throne, level with Peter, who jerked in surprised so hard he nearly fell off the wall. “HOLY mother of––! You could _warn_ a guy!”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Loki inquired, low and droll, examining his own fingernails with an air of absolute unconcern. He was in a different suit this time, black with pinstripes, and a dark green tie with a golden Yggdrasil tie pin. The rain didn’t seem to touch him, and for that Peter was envious to the point of being annoyed. There was redness at the corners of the god’s eyes, though, and traces of saline sheen on one cheek, like a few tears might have hastily (and not very efficiently) been wiped away.

“Well, I hope I’m considered more fun alive than I am dead of heart failure.”

“You’re not even quite twenty years of age, and in spectacular health; the probability of a bit of a surprise like the events of tonight managing to kill you in such a manner as that is so close to nil as makes no odds.”

“Don’t try to make me make sense,” Peter protested. “Wait, how do you know how old I am?”

“Magic,” Loki said.

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Magic isn’t like Facebook––at least I hope not. Seriously, have you been stalking me or something?”

“I’ve been spending my time trying to work out what exactly my brother sees in this little world of yours, so I’ve been spending much of my time people-watching, while trying to avoid notice, which worked well up until Amora’s indiscretion,” Loki said simply. “You’re so far one of the least dull parts of it. Can you blame me?”

“Well, nnnnot really, when you put it that way, considering you’re a bit viking and I kind of fight people a lot, plus you’re also clever and I like to think my commentary is witty, but I’ve got a secret identity to maintain, you know.”

“Only the one?”

“Well, considering you seem to have either an illusionist or shape-shifty thing going, or both, _you_ might have other identities, but the one capable of magically hovering in the rain without getting wet, the whole ‘god of mischief’ is the only real one. That’s what I’m saying.”

“And what of you? Is ‘Spider-man’ not as real as your other self?”

A long pause followed. “Touché.”

Loki offered a faint half-smile.

“So the whole stalking me thing. You haven’t, uh, found out my, uh-”

“I have, but I give you my word not to speak of it.”

“Uhm. I did google your name, so I kinda have to ask this: aren’t you sort of the god of lies as well as mischief?”

“Very good, Spider-man. Yes, I am.” He shrugged. “Emphasis in this case, however, is on the ‘god’ rather than the lies. Of the various peoples one finds throughout the nine realms, Aesir, Jotunns, and some (but by no means all) of the fae in Alfheim are bound by the magic born to us, which also laces every breath of air we take, every sip of water, every fruit we bite into, and all, when we are in any of those three realms. It lingers with us when we leave, and I have not been away for nearly long enough to be free of it even a little.” He waved a hand vaguely. “When I offer you my binding word, I will not break it; in truth, I cannot do so without considerable pains to myself.” He smirked, “And if you can get Thor to offer you his for any given thing, the same would go for him.”

“Oh. Well.” Peter cleared his throat. “Thank you. That––that really does mean a lot to me, Loki.”

Loki appeared momentarily surprised, caught a bit off guard, then looked away and cleared his throat. “You are welcome. Consider it a fair exchange for your silence on the subject of myself.”

“Right.” Peter rubbed the slightly stretched fabric on the front of his suit. “So, you chasing off Thor––does that mean you don’t owe me any favors now?”

“Oh, no. I’ll take any opportunity to make his day more difficult for free,” Loki said, his voice leaden suddenly.

 _Mercurial doesn’t even begin to cover it with you, does it?_ “He really didn’t know, you know,” Peter said, very quietly, braced to leap away if that tempestuously mercurial quality turned to anything potentially violent.

“I suppose that’s what Tony Stark told you.” Cold. Biting.

“Yeah. He looked less than happy about it, too.”

Loki’s brow furrowed slightly. “Did he?” He didn’t meet the young hero’s eye, focusing his attention skyward.

“Yeah. I think he was tortured in that whole––him getting kidnapped and traumatized before he became Iron Man thing. It’s one of the few things he gets really political about without anyone provoking him first.”

The trickster shot him a curious look.

“He wanted to offer Spider-man and internship at his company. I figured I’d do some research and see if I could swing it without the mask, so I’ve got a lot of Stark-related data floating around in my head just now,” Peter explained.

“An ‘internship’. That’s to do with employment, yes?”

“Yeah. And since advanced science is sort of my thing, I’m interested.”

Loki chuckled softly at that. “While paying attention to persons and things other than yourself today, I heard something truly amusing about magic and science.”

“Was it Arthur C. Clarke?”

“Yes.”

“Is this... you hovering here somewhat creepily––is that really science?”

“It can be explained in scientific terms, but they’re very advanced and abstract. It is, however, a gift I was born with and learned to harness and use by means most scientists in your world would consider rather archaic-looking.”

“That... that is _so cool_.”

Loki laughed again, and again it was the lower and less crazy one, then glanced skyward once more. “The clouds are clearing. I have other matters to attend to, now that certain forces are now doubtlessly aware of both my escape, and the fact that I’m on earth.” Sunlight was returning. A bit of it caught on Loki’s face, making the small scars around his lips a bit more visible. At that moment, he really didn’t look like someone who had tried to take over the world; he looked tired, gaunt, and more than a little world-weary.

“So who are you looking for?” Peter asked suddenly.

The god shot him a sharp look.

“You’re people-watching. I somehow don’t think you’re just on vacation or something. You’re fresh out of prison, right?”

“Fresh out of nightmarish tortures, only a few of which were mandatory, yes.”

“Mandatory?”

“Certain varieties of reality-distorting psychic connection cannot be removed from a mind such as mine without a lot of purging fire. There is no other way to be free of them.”

“Someone had psychic leverage over you?”

“Yes. Not enough to control me fully, but enough to pull my strings.” His expression became one of livid rage. “I do not appreciate my strings being pulled so. Not ever again, and especially not by hooks deep within my own brain loyal to a mad would-be demigod madly in love with Death herself.”

“So... you still did bad things that were entirely your fault, though, I’m guessing?”

“My actions were my own, save for those directly involving the Aether.”

“The what?”

“It matters not. As I said, I must go.”

“Right, sorry,” Peter said, bashfully sincere. “It’s just... Well, you’re fun to talk to, and I’m sort of curious about everything I probably shouldn’t be.”

“Truly an admirable quality, and one I value, when I see it in others,” the god admitted. “You are conversationally entertaining yourself, Spider-Man. Fare you well.” Loki then vanished.

Peter scratched his head a bit, trying to work out what the heck was going on with that particular super-villain. Then he recalled the fight with Amora, how he’d had to use that box on Skurge, how he only fought Amora with a simple-looking shield. He hadn’t been _attacking,_ he’d been deflecting.

“I think... I think I get it.” _He’s looking for something or someone, and hiding here, where there are civilians with protectors like the Avengers he can blend in with, and his brother close enough on hand to call if he’s desperate enough to sacrifice his pride._ With that thought in mind, Spidey left the alleyway behind, already hearing people below him notice the mugger he’d tacked up to the wall. He couldn’t help but wonder, and worry a bit, about who Loki was really hiding from.

 

~~

 

When the Earth was within range, only Star-lord was awake to be the first of his crew to greet the sight of it. He shivered a little, feeling a mixture of longing and pain and fear that he associated with his native planet ever since his first (admittedly catastrophic mostly due to being chased by Yondu and others at the time) attempt to return to what he had thought his home might be.

None of his mother’s family had seemed to remember him, since his grandfather had passed away, but the couple of them that he managed to track down had assumed he was a mutant, due to some of the stories he told or... well, actually he wasn’t sure where they got the idea, but it had been a bit catastrophic. His uncle and aunt had both been devout members of a fanatical anti-mutant group who called themselves the Friends of Humanity, and thus had thought young Peter Quill had to be eliminated for the safety of all.

Of course, now he was pretty sure that their confusion was due to his being only half-human, probably, and had been a big misunderstanding, but it had been harrowing nevertheless, to return to Earth after so long, and despite being too damned human to fit in very easily back then, as a teenager, amongst the likes of Ravagers and other groups throughout the galaxy he’d made efforts to run away and join, he still had been violently rejected and barely escaped with his life. From his own kin.

So... yeah, that hadn’t gone so well.

The prospect of actually landing there with his... well, his new family of adopted losers and rejects, all of whom were possibly the weirdest non-humans he’d ever met in his considerable experience to date, scared him a little. He was scared what they would think of humans, and what humans might do and say to them. He was convinced this could only end in disaster.

“Can’t sleep?” Gamora asked.

Quill nearly jumped out of his skin, because she was less than eight inches away from his shoulder before she’d made any sound at all. “JEEZUS FUCK!”

“Calm down, _Starlord_ ,” she mocked. It hadn’t taken her long to adjust to his awkwardness, once she realized he sincerely had no idea how to relate to women he wasn’t trying to impress, seduce, or con, and that his recalibration of his own social reflexes as a result was definitely a work in progress. She had noted that even when it was said scathingly, the nickname seemed to ground him a bit.

“Right. I’m an alien, now. Maybe that’ll go better for me?” His brow furrowed.

“You are no more ‘alien’ now than you ever were before.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that, the last time. They thought I was a human with some sorts of mutation that some people down there take particular issues with,” Peter sighed. “It didn’t go well.”

“You believe they will try to harm you again?”

“No, we’re not gonna land anywhere near anyone who might recognize me, this time; although I do think trying to avoid being noticed by most of the human population might be impossible. Especially, uh...” He glanced pointedly toward Groot sleeping against the far wall. “Well. Tall, bark and branchsome, there.”

“He is not exactly subtle, yes. You have ideas?”

“Rocket got a good cloaking system set up for us, better than our old one. We shouldn’t be detectable by any Earth systems I’m still familiar with, but if they’ve come up with anything new in the past few years...”

“How long?”

“Too long,” he said. “That’s all. I didn’t even know New York had been invaded. I feel like I should’ve heard about that. Is it that I really just don’t even register anyone around me mentioning Terra anymore? Am I that bad? Do I really just not even care about humanity anymore and-” He stopped when she put her hand over his face, fingers spread, not even particularly covering his mouth, but his entire face. “What are you doing?”

“Getting your attention in the hopes you’ll listen when I tell you to shut up.”

“... I’m okay.”

“You’re clearly not.” She lowered her hand and returned it to her hip, taking in his expression shrewdly. “I don’t recognize whatever look is on your face right now. Explain it.”

“Uh... what?”

“What is making your face look like it is looking?”

Looking at his own reflection in the nearest display-panel’s shiny surface, he soon frowned. “I look insecure and maternally worried. What the hell is wrong with me?”

“When you speak of Earth, usually you bluster. It is solely bluster, with occasional inept attempts to misdirect from more uncomfortable topics, which you tend not to broach with others without being either drunk, or seeming to attempt to seduce them.”

“To be fair, you’re hot?”

Her shrewd and unimpressed look now included a glare.

“Sorry. I just... never exactly ran into women who wanted to settle down, or stick around very long even in non-sexy ways, ever. I’m Terran, and most of the galaxy thinks of Terrans as primitive dwellers of some backwater planet that sometimes they remember used to be a place some _pantheons_ used to vacation to. I’m used to...”

“Being dismissed unless you are persistent, a show-off, and apparently possessed of ample money?” Gamora suggested.

He frowned a bit. “Yeah, kinda. It’s what I do. It’s all I do, kinda.”

“Not all. Sometimes we save the galaxy.”

“Yeah... I guess so.” He half-grinned a little. “You still don’t want to-”

“No.”

“Damn.”

“Perhaps it’s that your sense of smell is not quite as sensitive as mine, but trust me, pheromones here aren’t very compatible,” she said, gesturing between them.

“... Are you saying I smell funny?”

Her mouth quirking a little, she shrugged and nodded. “Essentially, yes.”

“Well, I know what you mean, at least. I met this Shi’ar girl, once. Smelled like a birdcage, to me. She was gorgeous, and everything, but I just couldn’t get past that. What do I smell like?”

Gamora shot him a look questioning either his seriousness, or his sanity, or both.

“C’mon, is it that bad?”

“We don’t share a lot of cultural references, as you well know.”

“True... but I mean... Do I smell like icky? Is it fish-icky? Please don’t tell me I smell fish-icky.” He sounded crushed at the mere thought.

“No, you don’t smell like anything aquatic.”

“You smell a bit like sun-warmed sandstone and sage,” Peter offered.

She blinked at him. “What is ‘sage’?”

“Okay, you’re right about the cultural references.”

“Perhaps I’ll encounter something similar on Earth.”

The thief frowned again. “Maybe.”

“There were a few amongst the rebellion against Thanos’ forces that I did pay attention to. Humans, and one Asgardian, Loki’s brother,” Gamora murmured. “They called themselves ‘the Avengers’ and they destroyed an entire Chitauri fleet.”

“Chitauri?”

“An artificially created race, under the control of Thanos’ second in command. He guided their creation... and all of them were destroyed, in the wake of the closing portal from the Tesseract, and the bomb delivered by one of the humans, who dressed in red-and-gold armor.” She shot him a look. “Is it possible that heroes of Earth powerful enough to fight off such forces might be possible allies?”

“I don’t know,” Peter muttered. “We need to collect some info before we land here. A lot of info.” He started to grin a very particular grin. It was one that meant he had a particular sort of misery he wished to share. Namely: the more disturbing parts of Earth pop-culture and the internet. “Let’s hack a couple satellites.”

“How about this one?” the assassin pointed to one on the screen.

“No, not that one. Trust me.”

“Why not?”

“That’s a Stark Industries model. Just... don’t touch those. Try one of the others... look, that one is NASA!” Peter pointed at another. “Easy as pie, in comparison.”

“Pie?”

Suddenly, the thief was staring at her with very wide eyes. “Holy shit. You’ve never had pie.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Pie is one of the single most fantastic creations humanity has ever come up with. It’s a baked pastry, and there’s all sorts of things that they’re filled with, usually fruits, and based on what foods you like...” He squinted at her thoughtfully. “Apple. Apple and blueberry. Maybe Key Lime, but I’m not sure if anything dairy-based is actually safe for any of you guys. I should run some checks on that and other food-related issues. I can probably prevent anything from killing you guys.”

“Quill,” Gamora warned.

“No seriously, you don’t understand how much food is a thing Earthlings do. It’s more important to most of us than sex, even so-”

“Quill, you’re rambling.”

He took gentle hold of her shoulders with the caution of someone who had once tried this more abruptly and been gravely injured. The slow approach meant she glared at him in an unimpressed manner, but she crossed her arms over her chest instead of punching him in the solar plexus this time, which was progress. “You will understand. Pie, Gamora, is even more well-liked than dancing.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I always forget how much I miss it. I need to find bakeries. Many bakeries.”

“First, you need to find us a way onto this planet without starting a war around us right after we land, since Loki’s invasion probably left your people very paranoid.”

“Right. That too. You got into that satellite yet?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Let’s see how the internet has changed in about five-ish Earth years.”

 

~~

 

Thor’s flying off in a literal cloud of anger to question the Spider-man had made Tony wonder. He had a few theories of his own, and when he’d first come up with them, he’d had to fake a coughing fit to cover his laughing so as not to alert everyone else at the little “Welcome Back from Asgard” gathering for Thor wherein the thunderer had first declared that Amora couldn’t possibly have been responsible for that ice.

He’d pieced it together as soon as Thor mentioned that 1) Loki had escaped incarceration after the first week of Thor’s last four-week stay in Asgard, 2) Amora wasn’t capable of such impressive ice-based tricks, and 3) Loki had apparently re-stolen some magic box called the Casket of Ancient Winters before getting the heck out of Asgard with understandable haste.

It was easy: Loki got attacked by the angry Amora and Skurge, so he iced Skurge, and Spider-man charitably darted in to help by catching Amora off-guard with convenient webbing. Hilarity must’ve ensued, considering how not-skittish the Spider kid had been on the subject of Loki. The inventor was impressed by the kid’s shrewdness, capacity for deceit, and apparent ability to amuse the god of mischief sufficiently to not get hurt. Usually liars that good were salesman or showmen; Tony Stark, of all men, should know. And that too would likely have helped Spider-man accidentally endear himself to, say, a god of lies and mischief.

The others except Banner were out dealing with a minor threat that was suited more to infantry than a suit of armor or a giant green rage monster: namely a hostage situation in a building not ideal for big infrastructure-damaging types like Hulk and Iron Man. Cornering Thor in the kitchen while he waited for pop-tarts to leap from the toaster was thus fairly easy enough for Tony.

The thunder god looked sober, troubled, and frowned a little as soon as Tony leaned against the counter nearby and greeted him with: “So your brother is buddies with Spider-man?”

Thor glared at him. “I do not wish to speak of either my brother, or the Spider, Tony Stark,” he said soberly.

“Well, considering your brother seems to be laying low a bit close to home here for us in New York, I think sharing of information is best for all concerned. What I’m _mostly_ curious about is why he hasn’t tried to collapse the tower, or sabotage my armor, or rig Hawkeye’s arrows to shoot ink in his face before he can fire. You know: vengeance stuff, or even little bits of petty revenge just to pass the time. Did you think to wonder?”

At that, the thunder god blinked a bit, then hummed. “I had not. I have been considering mostly means by which to resolve the rift between us, and reconcile us both with my father. I had presumed he was here avoiding incarceration and the ways Asgard has treated my brother despite how surprisingly well he ruled there for the past few years––aside from the Aether matter, which he was not in control of... As such, I am unwilling to bring his presence here back to Asgard’s attention.”

“He ruled _well_?” Tony sounded a bit stunned.

“I had new respect for my father. As you can imagine, it was outright disturbing to me to discover that it had been Loki, all this time, since his apparent ‘death’ before,” Thor said slowly. “He reached out to Jotunnheim in gestures of peace, and has begun trade with them in knowledge rather than goods, which their mages respect better than most anything else Asgard might offer, because most of their people’s ancient wisdom was lost when ice covered their world, long ago. My father accused him of treason for this, but I have seen Jotunnheim, since then. They did not make weapons with the knowledge Loki gave them, but they seem to be thriving, and rebuilding in ways they previously could not.”

“Okay, but uh... Why would Loki do that?”

“He has rejected Asgard,” Thor said slowly. “I believe he wished to show my father all of the ways in which he was wrong about Loki himself and how wrong they both were about Jotunnheim. I do not believe he planned to occupy the throne forever.”

“Why? Didn’t he _want_ a throne?”

“Not according to his daughter, who would not lie to me about her father’s well-being, and she does know him better than most.” Thor’s jaw clenched a little. “Also, my father has expressly forbid me to speak of Loki’s time on the throne, along with Sif and the Warriors Three, who were the only other witnesses to the final stages of the coup with which we overthrew Loki. Thus, no one in Asgard knows what good he as done as well as what ill, and that does not sit well with me.”

Tony nodded, understanding that sentiment more intimately than he wanted to admit. “I’d imagine not. Did he say why?”

The thunderer shook his head, and outside, the skies got just a little darker. It was easy to tell, in the living room of the Avengers tower, given two of its main walls were floor-to-ceiling windows. JARVIS automatically brought the interior lighting up a bit to compensate for the resulting dark.

“So... he’s _not_ taking over anything?”

“According to Hel, he wished, rather, to leave the throne while making a rude gesture toward Asgard, and I no longer entirely blame him for that. His actions in Midgard now...” He hesitated. “I know not why he is here, but he stood guard over the boy, the Spider, who lied for him, and stated that he had no ill intentions here, nor would he unless attempts to capture him are made.”

“That really seemed like a good enough idea to just... let him keep freely wandering?”

“He has been here for some weeks now, without bringing attention to himself or causing harm, and Amora was trying to remove my soul when she and Skurge triggered a familiar-looking teleportation-based trap.” The Thunderer shot him a long, level look. “I did not believe it could have truly been my brother who set that trap, until I heard word of the ice used against her, and Amora’s fury.”

“Fair enough.” The inventor said slowly, uncertain.

“Also, if he is still armed with the Casket of Ancient winters, he could level this city with it, which would be unfortunate for New York, or he could disappear and choose to arm other enemies with it, in order to ensure his own safety, if he thought that I might lead Asgard in hunting him. Leaving when he requested that I do so was the only way I could think of, to convince him that I do not believe Odin’s laws apply to him any longer.”

Tony thought about that. “A long few weeks, then, for you, in Asgard, was it?”

“Very. I am... I have become quite disillusioned with my own world, and its ways.”

“Welcome to my life,” the inventor muttered. “So he wasn’t himself? During the invasion? Like Barton?”

“No. He... tricked the leader of the Chitauri to leave his wits, and his will, intact.”

“How?”

“I know not. Odin was reluctant to explain, for I am not versed well in such magics. He suggested that my brother constructed something called a liar’s palace, a sort of false identity which would suffer under interrogation and torture, and be twisted by distorted perceptions of reality, while leaving most of Loki himself less... burnt by it. Some splinters and hooks of impulse did still pierce deeper, and it was the effects of those which caused him to put the Aether in such a perilous position. Only once it was revealed to him that reality distortion had pierced his mask and made it difficult to remove, and that some of his strings were still Thanos-pulled, he surrendered to us, during the coup.”

“Well, that fits into my theory on the less family-oriented front: I wasn’t exactly in tippity-top shape when I escaped from torture and imprisonment myself, and that wasn’t nearly a full year of it,” Tony mused. “I think your brother is even smarter than he looks.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“He’s _using_ us.” A pause. “Again. Hopefully in a less taking-over-the-world sort of way, this time, not that I’m actually convinced he didn’t botch that invasion on purpose. Taking over, I think, would defeat his current purpose a bit, though.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Well, if you ticked off someone after promising to hand over the earth to them, someone with a big bad alien army for instance, and you knew that back home they’d torture you in frankly horrific-sounding ways, laying low amongst a civilian population protected by Earth’s Mightiest Heroes would be an unglamorous but pretty secure way to spend some time recovering, don’t you think? Especially since he hasn’t used this Casket thing while here; clearly he needs it for something else. He’s biding time, in the shadow we cast.”

Realization dawned on Thor’s face.

“Yeah, now you’re getting it. The thing is: what do we do when they come for him? Because they probably will, now that he’s not in secure lockdown back home and out of their reach, and somehow I seriously doubt their primary concern will be either minimizing civilian casualties, or otherwise not simply taking over the planet like they originally were gonna do via Loki.”

“That might indeed pose a problem. Thanos’ forces are not at all meager: that much, we know.”

Tony made a face, and borrowed a line from the Spider: “What’s a ‘Thanos’ exactly?”

Thor explained about Thanos’ rise to power, ideology and worship of Death, and his personal love affair with Mistress Death, and all.

After several long moments thinking it over, Tony said, “I think I’m going to need to go hack various nuclear weapons systems worldwide and think of some sort of plan.”

“What systems?”

“I want to make sure that if and when someone like that shows up, no one will be shooting nukes at us this time around unless we need them to.”

 

~~

 

“No no no _no NO!_ ” _Crash_.

Some days, being Spider-man has its drawbacks.

Shaking off a fair bit of rubble and shattered glass, Peter found himself in the middle of a rather swanky-looking soiree. He’d landed in front of the bar, after crashing into a few tables had stopped his forward momentum, and most of the guests were now doing the usual “flee for the exits” thing without needing to be told, except for a woman sitting two seats away, at the bar, with a large drink in a martini glass, who shot him a look of mild intrigue.

She was tall, in a long black dress with an asymmetrical hem and a slit up the side up to her thigh. The skirt’s interior lining, visible through that slit, and a broad strip of the same fabric about her waist, showed emerald green fabric embroidered in gold with complex knots and the heads of dragon-like creatures, or perhaps heavily stylized wolves. The lady had long dark hair down to her mid-back, and dark green eyes.

With a perfectly casual air, even as Doctor Octopus lumbered into the room, destroying a section of wall right under the large hole Peter’s accidental entry had made in one of the skylights, she strode over to Spider-man and helped pull him to his feet with seemingly unnatural strength. “Having fun, little Spider?” she asked, in a familiar accent and manner, and–– _if her voice were just an octave lower_...

Peter’s eyes went very wide. “L-loki?” he squeaked. Because, well, yeah shape-shifter and all, but _wow_ this disguise was impressive, and _super-effective._

The lady smiled briefly.

“Miss, if you please,” the not-so-good Doctor said, his goggles catching the light menacingly as his four extra metal limbs kept him slowly lumbering toward them. “I would advise you to move and allow me to squash this spider, before I’m forced to squash you, too.”

Peter stifled a half-hysterical laugh.

Loki bowed dramatically and started to back away, only for a robotic arm to wrap tight around her waist and lift her into the air.

“You mock me, do you?”

“Only a little,” the trickster returned, deadpan.

Someone else joined the dialogue with a shouted, “Hey, Squiddie!” and that voice was familiar, too.

The good doctor turned around, just in time to hastily bat away a repulsor-blast aimed for his face.

Tony Stark was in a full tuxedo, with one minimalist Iron Man gauntlet that had seemingly unfolded from his wristwatch. “Keep your tentacles off my guests.”

Peter shot Iron Man a quick glance, then stared up toward Loki, who had her arms folded over her chest and was looking at Doctor Octopus with shrewd appraisal. Trust the god of mischief to be almost entirely unruffled by this sort of thing, even as the doctor reared back and put her between himself and Tony Stark bodily, using Loki as something of a meat-shield.

“Always good to know your priorities Mr.Sta-Kghk!”

Apparently, Loki had chosen that moment to sharply elbow him in the throat. Doc Ock promptly flung her aside, and put his two flesh-based hands over the injured area, eyes wide as he wheezingly gasped for air with more than a little difficulty. His long metal arms pushed him up, away from perceived threats, but clumsier than usual, likely due to panic and a bit of suffocation.

Loki flew in an elegant arc in Stark's direction, as a result of being thrown. Peter, a bit too aware that being a god, she might not appreciate being scooped up like a damsel, didn't go in for the catch. Given the way she managed to expertly tuck and roll so that she stopped a few feet shy of the inventor in an elegant crouch with her hair only a little mussed, Peter soon congratulated himself for making the right decision. The look on Tony Stark's face was priceless, in a mildly disturbing sort of way, given he seemed torn between being suspicious, impressed, and a bit turned on.

"So. You new in town?" he asked the lady.

She straightened up, smoothing her hair down with one hand. "I've been here long enough to get a feel for the place." She didn't even turn to look at him, which was probably why the playboy's gaze wandered so freely. "I may have damaged his hyoid bone rather severely––among other things."

Snapping back to the present, Tony looked up in time to watch Spider-man finishing his rounds of wrapping up the already-unsteady doctor's metal arms, and tighten sharply, making them bow and throwing Doc Ock quite off-balance.

"Timber!"

"We might want to move," Tony suggested.

"Hmm." Loki tilted her head slightly to one side, then took two steps back and one step to the left, then smirked at the seemingly half-conscious way the inventor stepped over to stand on her left.

"You're sure this is-"

 _Crash_.

Doctor Octopus's body landed about six inches shy of Loki's right foot.

"Yes," Loki said, and shot him a sidelong look, while Spider-man darted over and removed the power cell of the apparatus controlling the doctor's four metal arms.

Tony extended a hand. "I'm Tony Stark."

She accepted it with a smirk. "I'm aware."

"Ouch. I don't even get a name?"

"Believe it or not, you already have it."

"I think I'd remember... you." He offered a shameless smirk of his own. "You don't strike me as very forgettable."

"I can be, when needs must."

"And did they?"

She laughed a little, low and quite the opposite of non-threatening. "No."

"So why don't I remember your name, then?"

"Perhaps because you didn't bed me. That, I can assure you, would have been more than a little memorable."

"I would love a chance to find out."

"Then earn it, Iron Man," she shot back, lightly, but with an edge of something sharp lurking not far beneath the veneer of calm civility.

"Sorry to interrupt," Peter said, "but I don't actually want this guy dead, but he can't seem to breathe."

“I can aid with that, I suppose.” Loki smiled at Peter’s unease in response to that, and strolled over to crouch by the now blue-faced Doc Ock. She knelt, took hold of his throat in one hand, with surprising delicacy, and squeezed just _so_ , with a very small crack. The man suddenly gasped and went to struggle, but her grip tightened on his already lividly-bruised throat, and he instinctively halted with a pained sound. "Now that, I wouldn't recommend." Handily, Peter chose that moment to apply a bit of webbing to form a sticky net-cocoon pinning him to the floor.

"How dare you!" he snarled at the god of mischief.

Loki chuckled, low and a little off-balance; there was something in her smile that affected the lizard brain of even Doc Ock and caused him to fall sullenly silent with apparent discomfiture. "That's usually my line, you know,” the trickster said. “Does it always sound that cliché?" She aimed the question at the Spider.

"In my personal experience, it always does," Peter offered.

Patting the doctor's cheek, Loki stood up and strolled back over to the bar without another word.

Tony Stark stared after her with a look of mixed curiosity, suspicion, and something else a bit trickier to read. Also a bit of visible lust, but Peter was trying to politely ignore that. Luckily, it had left Tony’s expression by the time the man stepped over to him. “Hey, Spidey. Having fun?”

"Oh, absolutely a barrel of laughs. You might want to call S.H.I.E.L.D. to pick him up, by the way," the Spider suggested.

"Already had JARVIS signal them when I activated the gauntlet." He flexed his gauntleted hand just so, and it collapsed back into a wristwatch with a particularly wide and metallic watchband. "Now, I mostly ask because my villain senses are tingling––or my spy senses? I could see Natasha pulling that sort of thing off too––do you know who that lady is?"

Peter shrugged. "I can safely say that before tonight, I'd never seen her face in my life." _I just saw_ his _face_. Magic, in Peter’s mind, seemed once more the ultimate get-out-of-suspicion-free card. And this time he was sure Thor couldn’t prove otherwise, to boot.

"Last time I took you at your word it wasn't altogether, mm, accurate."

Chagrined, the younger man rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well. He asked me not to say, and I didn't really know he was a villain, and he was reeeally efficient at taking that Skurge guy out. And he'd laughed at my jokes, and didn’t actually threaten to kill anyone, or even hurt anyone who didn’t seem to try and kill him first. So, come on, can you blame me?"

Tony snorted. "Nah, no worries, kid: I'm not mad. More, I'm sort of impressed, actually; it takes talent to lie to a liar of my caliber, I’ll have you know. Keep an eye out for Loki, though. He’s––well, tricky."

"God of lies and mischief, yeah. I googled him."

"On that note, Thor assures me the bit about the horse is a fabrication, and mentioning it usually gets people set on fire. Keep that in mind."

Peter sniggered. "I figured as much. Consider it duly noted. That said, last time I stuck around for a S.H.I.E.L.D. villain pick-up, their director tried to apply a GPS tracker to me, hoping I wouldn’t notice. So I’ll be off, now.” He bowed deeply, and leapt straight up onto the nearest chandelier, then shot off a web-line out of the new hole in the ceiling caused by his impromptu entrance, and with a skillful tug, vanished up and out.

Tony shook his head. “Later, kid.” As police arrived and started bustling the remaining guests out, the inventor took the rare opportunity he currently had of _not_ being the central focus of everyone’s attention, and stalked over toward the bar where the mystery lady with the impossibly green eyes was calmly finishing her drink.

She glanced up at him, her expression masked. “Mr. Stark.”

“Mystery Lady,” he returned.

Loki smirked and said nothing.

“I get the distinct feeling that I’m not likely to find you anywhere on the party’s guest list,” he offered.

“You’re quite right.”

“You’re not a spy, though, so I have to wonder why that might be.”

“I’m not?” She wore an expression of wide-eyed mock-innocence for a moment.

Tony laughed a little. “Somehow, the innocent look doesn’t work so well after seeing you nearly crush a super-villain’s windpipe with your elbow. It looked like you might’ve broken something important there, too, so it’s funny you managed to fix it so easily.”

“I have a knack,” Loki said truthfully, then added the casual half-lie, “and it didn’t look too broken to _me_.”

“Hmm.” Taking in her face, Tony couldn’t shake off a dawning sense of familiarity, and it was only growing. Little things about that smirk hers, those almost unnaturally green eyes, and those sharp cheekbones, made his brain itch with the need to place where he’d seen their like before. She said they had met, and he should already know her name; the more they bantered like this, the more he could almost believe it. “I think maybe we have met before. Still can’t recall where, or when, or your name. But that smirk of yours rings a few bells.”

She offered a brighter smile, a little less sane, but still all too gorgeous: brilliant white, full of teeth, and some might mistake it for benign from a distance. “I’m usually remembered more for my words, I believe.”

“Those are familiar, too. Your accent isn’t quite English, I notice. Where are you actually from?”

“Not around here.”

“Obviously.”

“Why so obvious?”

“You’re no New Yorker. Trust me, I can tell.”

“You’re quite right.”

“And you’re not American.”

“Also true.”

“Also not British, Canadian, Australian, or from New Zealand, but your accent is close to falling somewhere between all of them with a bit of something else.”

“Is this a game of twenty questions?”

“Would you actually give straight answers if it were?”

“I’m a very crooked person, Mr. Stark,” Loki said. “I’m not sure I’m capable of such a feat as giving anyone up to twenty straight answers.”

“So you’re not straight, is what you’re suggesting?”

“Well, that’s also true,” she shrugged. “But not in the way you might think I’m suggesting.” A slightly more playful smile followed that.

“So you do like men?”

“On occasion. You?”

“On occasion.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Not so often these days, but then, I don’t let most anyone that close so easy anymore, regardless of gender.” _Not since I got a hole punched in my chest_ , he thought. _And especially not since breaking off with Pepper._ He didn’t have an empty bed should the mood strike, but he was careful, usually, to go for the less dangerous options. Usually, though, the dangers weren’t quite _this_ tempting. They didn’t _fence_ like this in conversation, and look so damned good doing it.

“Yet you would invite me?” the lady asked.

“I’d invite you out for a drink, because you’re interesting and I want to decipher you. That’s a novelty to me. So is the fact you’ve kept up with me this long, and even outpaced me a little. I’m sure you could kill me, though, so I’d need at least a name before letting you near any of my more, ah, valuable body parts.”

Loki fell quiet at that, and finished the last sip of her drink, plucking the cherry out of it thoughtfully. “Your ability to match me in conversation, admittedly, isn’t something I find often either.” She shot him an unreadable look. “Then again, you’ve actually been able to _predict_ me a bit better than most, so perhaps I should not be so surprised.”

 _More clues,_ he noted. _Like she can’t decide whether she really wants me to work it out. Now why is that?_ “But you _are_ surprised?” he said softly.

“Yes: by that, and by how we’ve conversed this long and I’ve still yet to have any urge to hurl you out of a window.”

Tony blinked a bit at that. It wouldn’t be the first time someone with pretty green eyes did that, he recalled, a little uneasily. “Do you do that often? The throwing people out of windows, that is.”

“Not of recent. Lately I’ve been doing more wall-breaking than window-breaking. It’s more difficult to do that with the average person, using them bodily for the purpose.” She glanced at his wristwatch idly and half-smiled. “Well, unarmored ones, in any case.”

“Well, I do hope that sort of destruction isn’t your usual foreplay.”

“What sort of destruction _do_ you prefer as foreplay?” Her voice was smoky, wicked and smooth as velvet.

 _Oh, you’re trouble_ , Tony thought. _You are_ such _trouble_. “Destruction of composure, for one.”

“Yours?”

“Depends on the night.” He raised an eyebrow. “Most people don’t exactly think of me as having any sort of composure.”

“Most people,” the lady said, “are idiots.”

“Ah, a liar after my own heart,” Tony mused.

A flicker of something crossed her expression, part thunderstorm and part hunger. “Now why do you call me a liar, I wonder?”

“Because I’m a showman, Mystery Lady. My composure is a master faker’s composure, and it almost always takes another faker to really spot it; therefore, the odds are good that you’re an excellent liar, and take pride in it. Am I right?”

“Very good, Tony Stark.” She rose to her feet.

“Leaving so soon?” He fell quiet when she leaned close, and he became aware of the smell of fresh snow, spices and smoke. It made him want to know if she tasted just as good, just as cooling and crisp. Her fingertip tracing the line of his jaw sent a prickle of awareness through him, sharper than usual, for this time his own predatory streak was very aware of the green-eyed liar’s equally fierce one. It burned, all too pleasantly, and he thought, _Maybe knowing her name really isn’t necessary._

“It’s been a pleasure,” she said, “and I do mean that. You surprise me more in a single conversation than most people can manage in a lifetime. I almost want to tell you my name again, just to see if your love of danger would only make you more interested.” She rested her other hand ever so gently over where the arc reactor was, with immaculate precision, like she knew precisely where to find it without looking, without even its light visible through his clothes as an indicator, even.

Tony froze, an edge of genuine fear flashing up through him for a moment. His eyes darkened dangerously. “Careful,” he warned, low and dark.

“Rarely,” she returned, and placed a playfully light open-mouthed kiss over the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps I’ll drop by your parties more often.”

“Why were you here, anyway?” Tony asked, as suddenly he had no guess, not even a theory. Something about her answers and the way she responded to him suggested she hadn’t expected to converse with him, let alone actually catch his _interest_ , which she had subtly tried, at first, to dissuade, and then couldn’t seem to work out how much encouragement she really wanted to offer––it spoke of hesitation, suggested she was even more wary of him than he was of her. So why was she here?

“Curiosity. I’m a ghost these days, Mr. Stark. You’re one of few observant enough to really notice, and not be scared away.” Her hand over the arc reactor retreated enough for her to trace a circle lightly around the edges of it where metal met skin unerringly, even through his shirt, with her forefinger. “Well, you’re afraid now, but that’s not actually stopping you. Perhaps that’s even better.”

“You know more about me than I’m comfortable with for someone I know nothing about,” Tony said, “but that just makes you more interesting than most of the room. Your conversation makes you outright _fascinating_ ––even if, at the moment, it’s about as fascinating as a wildfire that’s a bit too close to home.”

Her smile went wide and brilliant again, a flash of genuine pleasure with unsettling edge of, _Oh, I like it when you’re scared like this_. “That comparison is more accurate than you know, darling.” She pulled away then, pausing to look him over one more time from head to foot, smirk quietly to herself, and turn away. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

“And to you,” Tony said, a little less casually, resting a hand over the arc reactor as though reassuring himself it was still there. The front of it, through his shirt, felt a bit oddly cold, but intact, which was what mattered. He watched her make her way to the nearest exit. He watched her until she was out of sight entirely. And he wondered.

He also thought, despite the property damage and the ridiculously high insurance costs, maybe he should throw more events in New York. Maybe he’d even attend more of them, too. Those thoughts alone should’ve disturbed him, but then, many things about that night probably should have disturbed him more than they actually did.

That hadn’t stopped him from pursuing ideas before; why start now?

 

~~

 

After a full day spent reacquainting himself with a much more easily navigable internet than Quill remembered, occasionally introducing bits of it to curious crew members, and most of all arguing at length with Rocket over how to make sure the ship wouldn’t be detected by technologies the raccoon-like engineer considered laughably primitive, they finally managed to land on Earth without major incidents.

Peter even managed to find a secure place to hide his ship in, down in south Jersey. Well, it was an abandoned section of warehouse district and required removing a section of a warehouse wall, and the setup of a Somebody Else’s Problem field, but that was more secure than anything like mere invisibility, and cheaper to boot.

That just left the rest of the plan.

The rest of the 12% completed plan.

“Okay. What the fuck are we doing now?” Peter asked, looking searchingly at Gamora, who looked deeply unimpressed at him in return.

“We need to find the new Avatar of Life, Quill,” she responded. “From here, it’s detective work.”

“What about the Loki guy?” Rocket asked boredly. “He sounded important.”

“He thinks himself a god, like all other Asgardians, no doubt,” Drax muttered.

“Not without their reasons,” said the assassin, though she herself sounded a bit annoyed by it. “We may also need to find him, too, but no one should approach him save myself,” she insisted. “He would gut most of the rest of you as soon as he detected any illusions in place, if he is as paranoid as I recall him being, but my name is one he will remember.”

The others raised their eyebrows collectively.

She narrowed her eyes at them. “No.”

Quill raised both hands in the air, palms-up. “I saw pictures of him. He’s pretty, I wouldn’t blame you at all.”

Gamora then raised her eyebrows at him, mirroring his own prior expression.

“I was raised by Ravagers. I dunno what you were expecting,” Starlord responded. “I’m easy as hell.”

“That is quite obvious,” Drax said.

Quill pointed at him. “See? He gets it.”

“You who has lain with an A'askvariian.”

At that, Peter winced. “Seriously, it was only the once and only to get info!”

“I’d actually forgotten about that,” Gamora mused.

The thief swore at length.

“We have seen that humans do not respond well to those who differ too much from them in appearance, from what Peter has told us, and shown us from their internet,” Drax reminded. “Do we have sufficient holographic disguises suitable for such a primitive world, Rocket?”

“We do,” the furry engineer confirmed.

“That won’t help in two very particular cases,” Peter said, pointing at Groot without even having to look.

Groot appeared mildly offended until the thief actually looked Groot’s way.

“It’s not your fault or anything, but unless there’s a comicbook convention in town, there’s really no way a hologram of any kind could make you look like less of an honest-to-god Ent,” Peter sighed.

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah, I know, it sucks,” the thief agreed.

“Why wouldn’t it work for me?” Rocket asked. “It’s done before.”

“For one, everything around here is on a human scale and that puts most of it out of your reach, or makes you look really conspicuous if you find alternate ways to reach,” Peter said, “and for another, I’m trying to figure out how to get in touch with Tony Stark, and you’d probably try to steal a bunch of his stuff, because you have impulse control issues, so at least until we get a few contacts in the know, it’s probably best for you and Groot to lay low, and keep trying to get a lock on our Avatar of Life awhile, since we finally got a signature for whatever energy I give off that lets everybody know who my mother was, apparently.” He still sounded a bit resentful of that whole idea.

“Had I known you were unaware of it, I would’ve mentioned,” Gamora muttered. “I wasn’t sure what it was, though, until Hela pointed it out.”

“Wait, you’re able to sense it?” Peter asked.

“I as well,” Drax added. “It is a slight aura you project more of when you are protecting others, than when you are not.”

“Which might be why no Ravagers really seemed to notice,” the thief admitted. “I was usually just protecting myself from them. Convenient. Pity it doesn’t come with powers or anything. Man, I’m half-human and half ancient-mystery-alien-mysteriously-human-reproduction-compatible, and mom was apparently some big deal ‘Avatar of Life’ and I still don’t have any actual superpowers beyond some weird ‘aura’ and being a little sturdier than the average Terran, but like barely. I feel cheated.”

“If you were any more powerful, Quill, you’d probably have been killed by people who considered you a threat, or made use of,” Gamora pointed out.

Peter considered that, blinking a bit. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair. Yondu would’ve sold me to the highest bidder, or I’d have been kept on a tighter lackey-leash from the beginning...”

“You’re stalling,” Rocket pointed out.

“Humans are scary to me,” he said, in serious tones. “They’re able to embarrass me. I don’t like it.”

“You? Capable of _shame_ , Quill?” Drax inquired, disbelieving. “I have long suspected that you had a natural deficiency of some sort which prevented it.”

“No, it’s all strictly well-crafted performance art that’s become second-nature from long use. I went through sexual maturity surrounded by people of unfamiliar species who had a tendency to want to humiliate me for fun; I had to adapt fast and shame was one of the first things I learned to shrug off,” he muttered, staring into the distance for a moment like he was actually thinking much harder about something else, which was probably the only reason such self-awareness dared escape his lips, so of course he proceeded to ignore it and change gears back to what was actually on his mind, “Humans are different, though. I’m from here. I know the rules... mostly.” He grimaced. “Alright. Enough. Fine. Introspection sucks, I’m out. Wait here.”

Gamora flicked on a holographic disguise, which made her appear to be a very pretty, very fierce, and well-dressed––in black leather coat, tight green t-shirt that matched her previous skin-tone, and dark-washed blue jeans––human woman, with dark brown skin and the same dark eyes as her true appearance. “Ready.”

“I am not,” Drax protested, gesturing toward the knife he had been polishing.

“Uh... bro, you know I respect you, but I think I need to get reacquainted with Earth awhile without you first. You’re very distracting to keep in check, and all of these people use a lot of metaphors, and other linguistic tricks, that will probably cause you a great deal of confusion.” He then glanced at Gamora hesitantly. “You’re not gonna let me tell you not to come along, I’m guessing?”

“You are correct,” she concurred, and started to stroll out of the ship.

“She will keep you in check,” Drax deadpanned, smiling unpleasantly. His smile only widened when the thief scowled at him for it.

“I guess _we’ll_ be back, then,” Peter muttered, running a hand through his hair anxiously as he followed after her.


	3. Chapter 3

“Come on, Tony. It’s Shakespeare, which you actually enjoy whether you admit it publicly or no,” Pepper chided. “And our deal still stands: you either go see the show on opening night, or I make sure you have to attend all of their fundraising events. Every. Last. One. And they have over a dozen per year.”

Tony kept her threats in mind as he settled into the private box she had arranged for them: the closest one to the stage. She and Happy sat in the row in front of him, and Rhodey to his left. She knew that while he liked Shakespeare, some of the comedies still bored him enough that an extra pair of watchful eyes wouldn’t hurt.

“If you’re my date-” Tony started.

“I’m not,” Rhodey cut off. “I’m your parole officer.”

“I haven’t committed any offenses in ages!”

“Haven’t you?”

“Look, that last explosion in the lab was just a-”

“Shhh!” Pepper hissed. “The show’s starting.”

Tony shushed, though with an air of what he maintained was quiet dignity, but in truth it might have looked the slightest bit like petulance.

Then the show started.

 

~~

 

Perhaps it had been Peter Parker’s first mistake with Loki, not wondering about the god of mischief’s primary secret identity. The trickster’s tendency to appear and vanish at will, and his mention of days spent people-watching, made the younger man imagine him just sort of lurking about out of sight most of the time, sort of like a creepy stalker.

He certainly hadn’t expected tall, dark and snarky Loki of Asgard to have, say, an alter-ego that his own dear Mary Jane would describe as light-hearted, frequently apologetic, warm-hearted and humble. In fact, she fell just short of calling him an actual ray of sunshine.

Of course, MJ had been talking about one of her co-stars in the theater troupe she’d recently joined, outside of school. The college drama department’s director had recommended her to the troupe as one of the school’s rising stars, and Peter had been almost jealous of them ever since, especially given how MJ described the whole group. One of them in particular.

“Don’t worry, Tiger,” she assured him earlier that day, kissing his cheek. “I don’t think Tom really likes girls anyway.” Again, talking about her co-star.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Well, a little, but I _am_ a little serious. He doesn’t think of me like that, certainly, or any of the other actresses, much to their disappointment.” She laughed a little. “It doesn’t help that he appeared seemingly out of nowhere when auditions started. He had references, and a resume, but no one had heard of him before anywhere in New York’s theater scene, which for a guy like him is something of a feat. They all thinks he’s mysterious or something.” She shrugged. “He’s odd, but fun.”

“Stop talking about him,” Peter teased, pulling her closer. “What about you?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“Better with you here.” He kissed her gently.

“And how’s your other half?” she asked, more lightly, fingers brushing over bruises along his upper arms. “Nothing too insane going on?”

 _Just a sometimes-gender-bending mad Norse god making the occasional guest appearance,_ he thought. “Not much more insane than usual. Ran into a couple of Avengers, though.”

“Yeah, I saw Iron Man’s ‘in defense of Spidey’ news clip. I think he likes you.” She smiled a little wider. “Is that why you’re after an internship from him?”

“Well, he offered it to me with the mask––I want to know if I can earn it without the mask, too.”

“You and your pride, Peter Parker.”

“You like it.”

She shook her head at him to try and hide her smile. “I do. You jerk.”

That had been two days ago, not long before she had persuaded him to offer the troupe his photography services after the show on opening night. His name was in the paper all the time, these days, usually under an image of Spider-man or some crazed villain or other. Covering a semi-professional production of Shakespeare’s _As You Like It_ wasn’t his usual cup of tea, but he figured he’d give it a shot.

He hadn’t expected to see any super-villains on-stage, let alone one playing opposite his MJ, as her love interest. Imagine his surprise when Sir Oliver, the somewhat cruel elder brother of the rather more heroic Orlando, made his first on-stage appearance, wearing the same face, curly ginger hair, and neat goatee that Peter Parker had seen Loki wear the very first time they’d ever met. He sunk low in his seat, staring with wide eyes, and wondered if his life could get any _more_ insane.

Then he swore quietly, recalling that this was only the first Act.

 

~~

 

The show opened with an elderly servant, and a youngest son decrying his misfortunes, most of them inflicted by his older brother, who was even now master of their late father’s estate.

“I will no longer endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it,” he concluded. He was pale with hair of reddish-blond, handsome, and perhaps a sophomore in college, with broad shoulders and an athletic but not overly muscular build. He carried himself with seemingly absent-minded gentility and strength.

“Yonder comes my master, your brother,” warned the servant, Adam.

The younger brother bid him to hide, and watch how his brother would seek to shake him up.

The tall, narrow-built actor known as Tom Locke, according to the playbills and little program booklets, strode out onto the stage. His curls were smoothed, made more regal, his naturally light ginger beard slightly darkened. “Now, _sir_ , what make here?”

Said Orlando, “Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God  
made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, with idleness.”

“Marry, sir, be better employed, and be _naught_ awhile,” Sir Oliver responded.

“Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks with them?” the younger man prompted in light and airy tone, then more defiantly added, “What _prodigal portion_ have I spent, that I should come to such _penury_?”

“Know you where your _are_ , sir?” Sir Oliver’s voice was polite, and coldly smiling as a skull. In the bright lights it was difficult to tell even for those in the very closest seats, whether his eyes were blue or green, but his imperious expression and scornful tone sounded very familiar to two men in the audience. While Peter Parker, in his place in the second row near the center aisle, slowly sunk down a bit in his seat at the sound of it and the sight of Tom Locke himself, the billionaire philanthropist in his private box merely raised an eyebrow.

As Tony watched the brotherly bickering––the younger demanding rightful inheritance, and bullying a little in the process, but in noble-sounding enough terms––he felt something itch at him, drawing his focus to the actor playing Sir Oliver. His private booth’s seating was close to the stage, so that he didn’t need tiny binoculars to see the taller man’s face clearly. Something in the man’s mannerisms seemed very familiar, and his voice, particularly when he took on false-lightness and mockery in his tone, was even more so.

Those cheekbones were familiar, too, as well as unfairly pretty, but the billionaire inventor couldn’t, for the life of him, work out where he might have seen the tall, pale and fair actor before.

As Orlando and Adam exited the stage, Tony leaned forward, closer to his chosen boss. “Sir Oliver there, has he been in any of these shows before?” Tony whispered to Pepper, who shook her head.

“No, he’s very new,” she said, equally quiet. “And actually the understudy; their original lead got a call from Hollywood and went running, I heard, about two weeks ago. They were lucky to find Tom on short notice, in time to still make this opening night happen.”

“I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

“Not unless he’s an old fling of yours; he arrived on the New York theater scene very abruptly within the past month. He’s talented, and apparently went to an extremely good English drama school. He never made much of an impression back in England, apparently,” Pepper whispered. “Though I hear he got decent press in other parts of Europe.”

Tony shook his head. “I’m good with actors’ faces, when I want to be, and I’ve seen him somewhere.” A pause. “Not in my bed, either, not that I’d be averse. He _is_ gorgeous.”

“You’re sure it was in a show, and not somewhere else?”

Tony frowned slightly. “I’m pretty sure it was _some_ kind of show.” He couldn’t put a finger on why, or what sort of show, but he was certain that it had been attention-catching at the time.

He watched further, as Sir Oliver conversed with the Duke’s wrestler, providing a little exposition via small-talk, and then very skillfully made out his youngest brother to be positively monstrous.

“I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it,” Sir Oliver said, hesitating as though he thought it imprudent to mention, but could not keep it hidden any longer––like it was being pulled from him in a fit of confidential sincerity, “there is not one so young and so villanous this day living.” Lighter, with fondness trailing off into sadness, he then added, “I speak but _brotherly_ of him; but should I anatomize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep and thou must look pale and wonder.”

 _He’s good at this._ He’d seen _As You Like It_ several times over the years, but hadn’t seen anyone portray Sir Oliver as such a convincing liar as to call his brother’s heroic acts into question, however briefly, in the first act.

Then, once the wrestler left in a cloud of ominous rage, and Sir Oliver was left alone on-stage, his expression changed again to become more sly and calculative, with a jagged edge of slow-burning spite. “Now will I stir this _gamester_ : I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul, yet I know not why, hates _nothing_ more than he.” A flicker of something still more bristling and uncivil crossed his look. If the audience had doubted for even an instant that he was to be one of the antagonists, those doubts perished. There was a brittle disbelief to his words as he continued, making compliments sound like insults: “Yet he's _gentle_ , never schooled and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the _heart of the world_ , and especially of my _own people_ , who best know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither; which now I'll go about.” He spun on his heel, costume allowing a bit of additional swirl to the movement, and stalked off the stage with head high, like a king going to war.

Tony shivered, and couldn’t have explained quite why, even if someone had asked. “I know I’ve seen _that_ before,” he muttered under his breath. _But where? Fuck, this is going to drive me nuts._ He picked up the show’s program pamphlet, and proceeded to quietly google the man’s name from his phone as inconspicuously as he could manage. He found a facebook page, which seemed to be only half in English, oddly enough; the rest was in equal parts German, and what looked like Norwegian, or Swedish, or bits of both. And many of the pages about him were equally foreign, and they referred to performances throughout numerous Scandinavian countries and Germany, at small- to mid-sized venues.

Nothing helped with the maddening itch in his brain that demanded he work out where he’d seen the actor before. Quite frustratingly.

 

~~

 

It was dark out by the time the two members from the Guardians of the Galaxy reached New York City properly, which made Quill frown a bit, since he was suddenly certain that the bakeries he’d found earlier were all closed for the day, then. He would have to settle for one of the diners instead. They had their cab drop them off at the edge of the radius Rocket had assured them had been giving off occasional energy spikes akin to Peter’s own when his heritage was showing, for the past twenty-four hours.

The inconsistent nature of the energy spikes had pissed off the furry engineer to no end, hence his working on a way to track it, and isolate it closer to real-time, rather than finding traces only long after whoever was giving off those good-vibes vanished. Peter was happy to leave that to Rocket, though it was on his mind as he looked at other people walking down the same sidewalk as himself.

Lost in his head as he thus was, it took him a moment to realize Gamora had stopped to stare at something. It was at the front of a theater. A fancy theater. One with an an actual stage, and judging by the poster they were putting on Shakespeare that night. It wasn’t a play Quill was familiar with.

“We should see this,” Gamora said, staring at one particular figure in the poster.

“Shakespeare is a bit antiquated, actually, so I can’t recommend it. I’d be as lost following the dialogue and the plot as you, I promise. That’s gonna be boring. Boring boring. Plus...” He stepped away enough to glance toward the ticket-seller, who was reading a book, and then examine the lobby, noticing it was distinctly depopulated; although a look at his wristband and the small screen thereupon showed a number of life-signs: a whole bunch. A full theater. “Yeah, it honestly looks like the show started awhile ago, and I don’t think they’d let us in, now,” the thief explained, all hesitation, as he stepped back over to look for whatever it was about the poster that had gotten her attention in the first place. “Why?”

Eyes narrowing again as she reached up to tap the poster, which showed a few members of the cast. She tapped the face of Sir Oliver. “This face, I know.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“That.” She tapped it again. “Is Loki.”

“Seriously? Oh, hey, there _is_ some resemblance. He looks so cute as a ginger.”

She snorted at him. “Quill, focus.”

“You sure that’s really him?”

“It is not a guise too out of character for him, and if he is wisely attempting to lay low, this would be fairly ideal for him, I believe. What is Shakespeare? Is it to do with battle?” she asked.

“Uh... it’s the name of the dude who wrote the play.”

“Ah, a famous playwright.” She tilted her head. “Antiquated... he is from another historical era?”

“Yeah. His works are a few hundred years old.”

Gamora looked impressed. “Stories that last so long as that are quite powerful. I can see why the likes of Loki might approve of them.”

“I wouldn’t figure him for being in a comedy called ‘As You Like It’ though, just from what I’ve heard and all,” Peter mused.

A kid emerged from the theater looking pale and shaken. He had a press pass and a camera, and looked deeply disturbed. He did a double-take looking at them, seemingly stuck on examining Star-lord’s coat and the rest of his clothes. “Are you seriously considering attending Shakespeare in a Firefly cosplay?” he asked.

Quill snorted and grinned at him. “I’m not cosplaying.”

“I told you you would be more conspicuous,” Gamora muttered.

“What’s your name, kid?” the thief asked.

“Peter Parker.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I’m Peter Quill.” He reached out a hand, grinning a little at the thought of the shared first-name.

Parker shook it. “You normally dress like you’re out of a spaghetti-western space opera then?”

“You’re clearly a nerd who knows things. Where’s the nearest place around here that serves a decent apple pie? My friend here is unfamiliar with the glories of some kinds of baked goods.” He pointed at Gamora with a thumb.

“Quill, we have work to do,” she insisted.

“Pie first. We know where he is now, so we’ve got the time.”

The Parker kid looked worried, at that, suddenly. “Where who is?”

“An old acquaintance of mine,” Gamora said. “We may require his aid, or at least his non-interference.”

Quill tried to subtly elbow her to make her stop, but she seized his elbow in an iron grip that made him whimper. “Ow ow ow, okay stop, ow.” He sighed in relief and rubbed his arm when she finally let go.

The human kid looked between them, back and forth, for a few seconds, wary.

Gamora noticed, of course. “You know something.”

“What? No! Well, I mean, I know a lot of things. About a lot of things. Anyway, I just came out here to get some air after uh...” He glanced back toward the theater. “Yeah, I’m just gonna go back in there and face the music. Look, whoever you two are, there’s a diner about a block down that makes a mean cherry pie, but they have a wide selection of others too, including apple. Just keep going west for three more streets, then take a left and it’s about half a block down, big shiny neon sign that says ‘Diner’ on it. You can’t miss it. Bye!” He then skittered back into the theater.

“What a weird kid,” Peter mused.

“Hmm,” Gamora sounded thoughtful. “We should keep an eye out for him. He knows someone in the troupe might have dangerous people looking for him.”

“You really think so?”

“I think Loki might be working with him for some reason. There must be more to him than there seems, at first glance,” she insisted.

“You’re seriously good at this detective work thing.”

“I know how to hunt down targets. It’s always been what I’m considered useful for. I found you, too, did I not?”

“Well... but I’m not a shape-shifting self-proclaimed deity.”

“True. Since we would only bring more attention to ourselves by attempting to join tonight’s audience for this show, we should move on, Quill. You have time to introduce me to this ‘pie’ concept.”

“Hell yeah. Pie!”

 

~~

 

Of all the people Peter might have expected to see loitering in the lobby during the intermission, almost hiding from the crowd by keeping close to the large decorative columns near the corner, just as Peter himself had sought to, Tony Stark wasn’t among them. As though the very intimidating lady and her Mal cosplayer look-alike friend both staring at the poster out front hadn’t stressed him out enough, now there was an Avenger attending Loki’s show. Which was also Mary Jane’s show. _Why? Seriously why?_ Peter pleaded silently, as he glared ceiling-ward at whatever fates had thought this was a good idea. _How is this my life now?_

Tony Stark didn’t even seem like the sort of guy to be sitting in a theater watching Shakespeare when he could be zooming around at Mach 3 in his armor somewhere, or hitting on supermodels, or whatever else Tony Stark was known to get up to that was loud, shiny, and questionable.

What was worse: he couldn’t call the guy on it with the Spider-man brand of sass he so wanted to inflict, and which would be such a good distraction as well as possibly useful for him to do. Well, he couldn’t do that without a mask on, anyway. It wasn’t like they knew each other and he had no convenient excuse...

 _Wait._ Pete looked down at the professional camera around his neck, and the lanyard-born badge identifying him as a touch-and-go member of the Bugle press corps, and grinned to himself a bit. _Casual excuse acquired_.

Thus, he approached Tony Stark quite casually, and greeted, “I think if the Bugle had known you’d be attending, Mr. Stark, I somehow doubt that I’d be the only one of their employees here.”

Tony glanced at him, then the press badge, eyes narrowing a little with amusement as he read the name on it and then met Peter’s gaze steadily. “ _You’re_ Peter Parker, then. I don’t know, maybe they wanted you to try branching out to new superheroes,” he responded, and held out a hand.

Peter shook it, with a mildly self-deprecating half-smile. “Spidey’s all I can keep up with, really. No offense.”

“I’m impressed that you can manage even that. You must have a deal cut with him.” He looked Peter up and down quickly, shrewdly. In his head, he might have been making a height and build comparison that was very exacting. And telling. “Or something. Why are you really here, though? Is there going to be a Spider-related happening to liven up the evening?”

Peter shook his head with a grimace. “They aren’t usually planned, and even if they were, the plan certainly wouldn’t include this place tonight. My girlfriend Mary Jane alone would kill him, before trying to bring him back to life just so the director and all of the minstrels could kill him too. I’m not really here for the Bugle, but it’s easier than trying to explain to the bouncers that no, really, that smoking-hot redhead playing Celia is my girlfriend, and she and the director want to see if my cheaper-than-pro rates as a photographer might be worth making use of for the show.”

Tony chuckled at that. “Fair enough. Why approach me, though?”

“Because you’ve already met Spider-man yourself and are thus less agog and insistent upon him as the sole topic in a conversation, y’know?” Peter offered. As far as casual half-lies went, it was one of his better ones.

“And you haven’t asked about the tech specs of the suit once, yourself. I’m not sure whether to find that refreshing or hurtful,” Tony mused.

“Well, I may have read up on that while researching Stark Industries for possible internships.”

“Really?” The inventor’s faint smile took on a new edge. “We don’t have many openings, publicly.”

“Yeah. Another reason to see if talking to you here might be enough to catch your interest.”

“Why Stark Industries?”

“I follow Spider-man around on a regular basis, Mr. Stark. In this town it’s you or Oscorp for my fields of study, and I’ve had a few too many close calls with, ah, interesting Oscorp escapees and such to really think about being an intern there. Also the Green Goblin’s actions led to the accidental death of... some people I really, really cared about.” He made a face and looked away for a second, then tried to cover it up with a forced smile. “Though I guess I’d get more interesting villain shots, that way.”

“You’re into engineering, then?”

“Yeah, quite a bit. Some bio-engineering, but mechanical is just as interesting”

“Have you invented anything?”

“Yes.”

“What did you invent?”

“Offer me a real interview and you might find out.”

“What makes you think this isn’t one, Peter Parker?”

“Miss Potts hasn’t met me yet.”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Alright, I’ll give you that. Give me a hint, though, or I’ll think you’re scamming me. You talk a little like a faker; I’d be one to know.” He offered a quick-flash of a slightly sharper smile. “So what have you got?”

 _Not something spider-specific. NOT something spider-specific… damn, that really cuts out my better options––_ all _of my options. Damn._ He made a show of looking at the ceiling, casually thoughtful, and smiled when it came to him, snapping his fingers. “I got some ideas, following Spider-man around, and I’m thinking of offering these to him.” _That sounds believable_. He reached into his ever-present look-I-am-a-harmless-college-student satchel, careful not to open it fully and show off the web-shooters that were his pride and joy, and instead plucked at a pouch on his utility belt where it had fallen near the bottom of the bag. Even given such awkward positioning, he could navigate those pouches by touch alone, and did so. He pulled out a small oval with six little metal legs. It was sleek, thin as a shuriken and just a bit wider than a silver dollar.

The spider-tracers were still in prototype testing stages, so they didn’t have the full stylized Spider-man color scheme or aesthetics applied yet, luckily enough. “It’s a work in progress, but this is my own take on a micro-tracker. It can navigate entirely independently and relay information back through a wearable interface with a screen about the size of an iPod nano, with an equally simple on-the-go style of interface, but considerably more flexible. It can crawl, glide short distances, and swim for longer ones. The legs have blade-like edges, the tips can either sink into solid brick, or cling tightly to glass. And attempts to open the casing improperly can be… hazardous.” He offered a grin. “I just need to finish the final version of the exterior casing.”

“Nothing in bright red and blue yet?” Tony inquired.

“Not yet.”

“May I?” The inventor extended a hand.

“Go ahead, yeah.” Peter tilted his hand, and the spider-tracker skittered down into Tony’s palm.

Examining the little robotic marvel closely, Tony made a low sound of approval. “This is actually a pretty good design,” he sounded a bit surprised. “Nearly seamless, a bit like some of Doom’s, albeit much sleeker”

“Less likely to catch fire, too. It handles heat distribution way better.”

“You’re familiar with his work, then. Spider-man ran into Doom, too, at some point?”

Peter made a face. “It was a very strange day. Even by my standards. Also, the human torch is impossible to get in focus, especially in night shots. Ruined. Everything.”

“And you took home some Doom-bot parts?”

“I’m a college student, Mr. Stark. I’m on a limited budget. And I took the parts to melt them down; they’re no use, otherwise. Reusing parts in their original form is way too risky, for one, since that guy makes them self-repairing. For the other, the alloys had some of what I was looking for, but Doom seems to like heavy and near-unbreakable over light and thin and flexible, so I had to tweak them a bit. It makes his bots hard to destroy, yeah, and they keep getting back up over and over, but they’re not half so good at hiding and staying unnoticed as one of these.”

Tony nodded. “You’ve got a pretty strategic mindset, there.”

“It comes with the territory.”

“I’m sure.” He returned the little machine to Peter just as Pepper and Rhodey appeared in a doorway on the opposite end of the lobby, with a seek-and-capture air about them. There was a dense crowd between them and the two heroes, due to their proximity to the snack bar. “Oh good. I suppose you’re about to get your chance to impress Pepper Potts, tonight, too.”

“I thought you two weren’t-“ He cut off, realizing just how awkward that was about to sound. “Uh…”

“She’s here because we fund the theater and she enjoys it, and she drags me here once a year as part of a deal we have going that was in place before we were together, and will remain such long after even this, I have little doubt,” Tony offered, waving down his charming red-haired boss. “Oh, on an unrelated note, is tonight your first night meeting the rest of the cast?”

“Yeah.”

“So you wouldn’t know maybe where I’ve seen the damn guy playing Sir Oliver before?”

Peter stood very still; that had come out of left field after all the fun banter and tech-speak, and it managed to trip him up just a bit. He might have made a face; it might have been a bit obvious. “Maybe he has one of those faces?”

“If more people around the world had faces like that, Sweden would no longer corner the market on exemplary cheekbones,” Tony retorted. “You _do_ know him, then.”

“Well. Sort of, yes. Not very well. I’ve run into him a few times, accidentally got involved in an argument he had with a tall blond guy—that sorta thing.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s English, I think. And his name is Tom. MJ thinks he’s adorable, very sweet, and probably not straight. That’s all I’ve got.”

Tony snorted, amused. “Duly noted.” Peter didn’t retain much information that magazines, television, and other media threw at him from the celebrity gossip section––no matter how interesting Gwen or Liz insisted some of it was––but he recalled enough not to be surprised by the half-considering smile on Stark’s face.

The younger man tried not to think of the potential for violent chaos if Stark kept flirting with Loki in disguise. It just... Surely that just couldn’t end well.

Then Pepper managed to squeeze through the crowd lined up for refreshments. Rhodey, presumably, had gotten diverted by a particularly attractive lady in the crowd. “You, Mr. Stark, are not sneaking out halfway through intermission again.”

“It’s two-thirds by now, and that was an Iron Man-related emergency.”

“It was strip poker at Avengers Tower.”

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand,” Tony concluded, then turned with a gesture to bring her attention to Peter. “Pepper, Peter Parker. Parker, Pepper Potts. Wow that alliteration was outright painful.”

“Oh, you’re from the Bugle, right?” Pepper asked, reaching out to shake his hand. “Are you exchanging superhero stories?”

“A bit. Also applying for an internship, sort of,” Peter offered with a smile he often used to charm other people’s parents: boyish, trustworthy, and brilliant without any trace of visible ego. It seemed equally effective on Pepper Potts, who smiled back warmly.

“I’m not sure we have any-“

“We do,” Tony said idly. “In R&D.” He shot Pepper a look. _We do now._

She shot him one back, surprised.

He rolled his eyes and shot her another look, along the lines of: _Trust me._ When she didn’t budge at first, his eyes narrowed in a silent, _no, really._

Pepper shook her head at him with open exasperation, but her eyes were bright and positive when she returned her attention to Peter. “So. What college do you go to?”

It was, Peter decided,  looking to be a good night.

Then Tony muttered, “I told you to just  knock on the window.”

And that was all it took to dump an invisible bucket of ice water over Peter’s head; at least, that’s what it felt like. “Pardon?” he squeaked.

“Tony!” Pepper warned. She hadn’t quite heard what he said, but she knew, knowing the inventor, that it had been delivered in a deliberate and timed manner for maximum startlement of the younger man, which was rude. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I’d like some carefully-worded confidentiality, exclusive rights, and protections written into my terms of employment then, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, and blinked. Those words hadn’t actually been his, and he was disconcerted by the way they seemed to have tugged his mouth into forming them without his permission. Not that it wasn’t a good idea, and he liked that plan, _but_ -

His thoughts cut off there, as he caught sight of a flicker of green and gold behind him, just for a moment, where he could see his own reflection in the glass-covering over the nearest _coming soon_ poster. Looking directly at it, he saw Loki’s faintly smirking face over his reflection’s shoulder, briefly, before the illusion vanished. Peter shivered. Then he smiled the charming smile again at Tony’s open surprise.

The inventor then smiled to cover how caught off guard he’d been, and how impressed. “I guess my word won’t be sufficient, then?”

“You’re only human,” Peter said, with a casual shrug.

Tony shot him another odd look. “You’re more interesting than you look.”

“Well. Blue and red.”

“I’d factored that in.”

Peter blinked. “Uh. Thank you, I think?”

“By the way,” Tony said, lowering his voice so Pepper wouldn’t quite hear, “Let another photographer get in a few shots now and then.”

“That obvious?”

“To me, yeah, but I can’t be the only one.”

“Damn. Paid internship?”

“You’re cocky. And demanding.”

“And you’re curious about the webbing.”

“Fair point. Fine: paid internship.”

“If you boys are done conspiring,” Pepper interrupted. “The second half is starting.”

 

~~

 

Tony returned to the booth obediently, and sat down to watch the third act while still feeling a bit smug to have worked out Spider-man’s secret identity so quickly, and on the spot, too. It helped him forget, however briefly, that he still hadn’t identified why that particular tall ginger-haired actor made him feel right on the cusp of recognition, without ever actually landing on the other side of that first click of _I’ve seen you before, that time- those times? When... Shit._

Then the first scene of the third act began, and he was reminded sharply, because the man’s line, “O that your highness knew my heart in this!  
I never loved my brother in my life,” was delivered in a strangely familiar, serious and dismissive manner, and it _bothered_ him. It nagged at him, and threatened to give him a headache, it was so familiar.

Then the Duke’s response, cold and hypocritical and careless retort of, “More _villain_ thou,” caused such a mixture of hurt, chagrin and horror in Sir Oliver’s expression as made Tony wonder if it could all be truly feigned.

The look lingered, along with a touch of desperation while he clearly tried to get a word in edgewise but could find no words, even as the duke further ordered for him to be pushed out, and his lands seized. It made Tony feel far more amused than he felt it truly merited.

Thankfully, the rest of the play proved well-acted and captivating enough to distract him, if only for a while, from trying to think of why that look on the man’s face had bothered him not because it looked too feigned, but instead because it had looked too honest.

 

~~

 

Peter was caught between elation and horror as he watched the rest of the show, a bit too distracted to quite take it in. For the most part, this was because he’d been identified, by _Tony Stark_ of all people, who was _the_ public face of most super-heroism in the country, given he was the main one who went about unmasked, and was _just_ as recognizable unmasked as he was in flashy red-and-gold metal armor.

To say the man stood in the spotlight was an understatement. Tony Stark _was_ his own spotlight––literally, if the arc reactor happened to be visible.

And Peter Parker, as well as Spider-man, tended to prefer being a bit less... exposed. Hence, the mask.

There was also the other minor problem of his friend––was that the right word? Patron god? Devil he made deals with? A devil- _bookie_ , as it were?––the god of lies and mischief ( _definitely patron god; he’d suit you for that, Petey. You lie like a pro and even Tony Stark told you as much_ ) continually catching the eye of a certain billionaire playboy prone to wearing shiny metal armor.

Last time, with Loki in disconcertingly attractive guise as a lady (and Peter was still weirded out by that, a bit, but hey, whatever floated Loki’s boat was none of his business) the god of mischief had only slightly gone along with the flirting, but she also certainly didn’t put any effort into actually dissuading or rejecting Tony Stark’s goading. Honestly, she’d seemed curious and even interested, but chary and cautious as well. Peter really didn’t know what to make of it.

He just really didn’t want to get caught up in the crossfire, or see either of them get hurt.

So Peter watched the play’s lovers, the minstrels, the happy fool and the erudite miserable fool both, making their exits and their entrances––almost without seeing them. Instead he focused on MJ, on being worried, and the small frantically defensive hope that somehow things wouldn’t explode in everyone’s face, this time. For once. Maybe. Hopefully.

Then he recalled that Loki had apparently tried to take over the world that one time according to Stark, and he worried all the more, because _cool-headed_ and _rational_ people generally just didn’t do that sort of thing, and frightfully composed as the god of mischief may have appeared so far, Peter had caught more than a few glimpses of something a bit more broken under the surface. Broken, defensive, and spiteful as the character Loki’s alter-ego was playing in the show, Peter mused. And maybe––just maybe––that in and of itself should tell him something, ( _This is why I’m in engineering instead of psychology_ , Peter mentally sighed) but Peter couldn’t be sure. Actors and liars so often first learned their craft by means of lying to themselves, and he got the feeling Loki might be just as bad about that as any of the rest of them.

Then he let himself get absorbed in the latter half of the third act, and well into the fourth, so that when Sir Oliver entered again, it didn’t send another worried train of thought toward an inevitable cliff of near-panic. Perhaps it was the nervousness of the smile, the slightly more humble carriage––not cowed, but not so over-confident, either––that Oliver wore this time, and how it lit up into something else entirely as he met the gaze of the lady Celia, disguised as Aliena, as portrayed in performance by the inimitable Mary Jane Watson.

The pair of them pulled off Shakespearean love-at-first-sight quite well, Peter thought, but when he glanced up, just absently, at the private box Tony Stark occupied, he was perplexed to see that the inventor was quite obviously trying very hard not to laugh.

 

~~

 

“Orlando doth commend him to you both, and to that youth he calls his Rosalind, he sends this bloody napkin. Are you... _he_?” He asked of the disguised-as-a-man young Rosalind, though he kept glancing occasionally, furtively, at Celia.

“I am: what must we understand by this?”

Sir Oliver looked abashed, and rested a hand over his own heart, not seeming to notice his hand was as bloodied as the kerchief he’d handed to her. “Some of my shame; if you will-” A hesitant glance at first Celia, then again to Rosalind. “if you will know of me what man I am, and how, and why, and where this handkerchief was stain'd.”

“I pray you,” Celia said, her voice just slightly softer and less mocking than it had been throughout the earlier banter, “tell it.”

For a beat too long, Oliver stared at her, then cleared his throat, and launched himself into the tale with the air of a man used to frequent lies and subtle dramatics for embellishment making his first attempt at an honest tale, but being unable to reign in the melodrama of retelling an action-packed hero story.

As soon as a certain thought had struck him, Tony genuinely couldn’t shake it, and the more he tried, the more it stuck; because really, Tom Locke seemed to be pulling off a perfect imitation of _Thor the Thunderer_ whenever one Jane Foster happened to be anywhere near him: the quiet ridiculousness of Tom’s attempts to make his audience’s eyes light up with intermixed fear and humor (as he enthusiastically recounted his near-death by means of a hungry lioness), the slightly uncertain-storyteller edge to every other phrase as he watched Celia’s particular reactions, and even the edge of noble pride in describing the hero in a ‘bigger’ voice than the rest––it was all _priceless_.

“O, I have heard him speak of that same brother; and he did render him the most unnatural that lived amongst men,” Celia said, the concern and low anger in her tone making it clear that she had yet to identify the man before her as that very brother.

Sir Oliver cleared his throat, looking suddenly sheepish, with more than a little glimmering uneasy fear-of-disapproval in his look. “And well he might so do.” He cleared his throat and added, self-effacingly grave, “For well I know, he _was_ unnatural.”

 _Oh god, it’s like when Thor doesn’t want to admit he was the one who started a brawl, when he’s too busy bragging about how heroic and fun it’d been!_ Tony thought, and sniggered aloud before he could quite stop himself. Rhodey seemed to notice that Tony was far more amused than just the scene itself properly merited, and shot his friend and odd look.

“What is wrong with you this time?” he whispered.

Tony bit his lip and slowly shook his head.

Back on stage, Rosalind asked, “But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?”

Snapping back into his story-teller airs, Sir Oliver continued, “ _Twice_ did he turn his back and purposed so; but _kindness_ , nobler _ever_ than revenge; and nature, stronger than his just occasion, made him give _battle_ to the lioness, who quickly fell before him: in which hurtling from miserable slumber––” He stumbled back into painful, nervous sincerity, his voice faltering as he concluded, “- _I_ awaked.”

“Are you his brother?” Celia gasped, caught between horror at the tale and reluctant sympathy.

“Wast you he rescued?” Rosalind cried.

“Wast _you_ who tried to _kill_ him?” Celia asked, more pointedly, more determined to know before her gaze would soften again.

“Twas I; BUT 'tis _not_ I! I––I do not shame to tell you what I _was_ -” His expression so softened, in a perfect imitation of Thor’s most soulful puppy-dog ‘ _I have learned not to look down on you wonderful mortals and am mending my ways’_ stare, that in a nearby opera box, a billionaire had to bite his lip in vain to keep his amusement silent. “-since my conversion so _sweetly tastes_ , being the thing I am.” He even did the concerned-eyebrows thing, and paced his words the way Thor did in serious-talks-with-Jane moments.

Tony snorted, and a quiet burst of giggles escaped him before he could stop it. The giggling didn’t stop until Rhodey elbowed him.

“Tony,” he growled, warning.

“I swear, I fucking swear,” Tony hissed, in a low and half-laughing whisper, “that _that_ man is _playing Thor!_ ” He wiped at his eyes. “Oh, and it’s brilliant. The conversion from being an ass with a god’s ego to being a ‘nice guy’ and so desperate for the girl’s approval––it’s all sappy and ridiculous, and uncomfortably sincere, oh god.” He snorted, covering his mouth with one hand. “Sorry. No, never mind, I’m not sorry. I need to meet this guy, I really do.”

“You’re insane,” Rhodey muttered quietly, but he was smiling faintly.

“That’s beside the point. The point is, I like this guy.”

“I don’t need any sordid details,” Rhodey whispered back.

“So I shouldn’t talk about how he has a sweet ass, too?”

“Shut up, Tony. Watch the play.”

“The play is the thing,” Tony muttered, his eyes bright, and watched the rest of the play as weddings were arranged, identities revealed, the Good Duke raised back to his proper place to support the two primary new wedded couples, and all seemingly well, as seemed to happen in any Shakespearean comedy: comfortably witty, amusing, and light-hearted.

 

~~

 

It took them longer than expected to actually reach the diner, since sensors in a device Gamora had at her hip went crazy and sent them on a wild goose chase after the Avatar of Life for a bit over an hour. Then they got lost, and had to back-track to find the promise of pie a certain thief was so fixated on.

After some careful research on Zen-Whooberis physiology, Peter Quill had determined that none of the contents of most pies, except those which contained a lot of dairy-based filling, would be safe for Gamora to consume. He hadn’t entirely anticipated her to become fixated upon bacon as soon as she smelled it, though.

She ordered a whole plate of it. And consumed it quickly.

The thief might have been a little horrified, as he sipped his coffee and stared, almost losing his appetite. She didn’t have bad manners or anything, but the speed at which she went through slices of bacon was strangely mesmerizing in a slightly scary way. “You frighten me.”

“Yes, I consider that to be important to how well we get along.”

He chuckled. “Well, I can’t argue that, I guess.” He then pushed the small plate of blueberry pie toward her, since she had rejected the apple pie outright upon smelling it, and Peter had consumed it himself instead. “Dessert, though. C’mon.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but her nostrils flared a bit as she lowered her fork (she adjusted to earth cutlery pretty quickly) and cut off the tip of the pie slice, and raised it to her mouth. Her eyes went very wide.

“So...”

She chewed slowly and swallowed. “Surprisingly good, considering the smell.”

“Uh... smell? The berries?”

“No, I suspect it’s some form of seasoning?”

“Cinnamon isn’t it; you like that, I’ve noticed.”

She shrugged.

A passing waitress overheard them. “You sensitive to a bit of nutmeg, sugar?”

“Nutmeg?” Gamora asked.

“It’s my own recipe,” said the waitress, whose name-tag said Anna, smiling at them a little. She had bright blue eyes, freckles, skin only a little lighter than that of Gamora’s holographic illusion, and was petite and curvy. When Peter opened his mouth with intent to flirt, the assassin kicked him under the table not-quite-painfully: a warning shot. “Most people don’t notice the nutmeg unless they’re a bit averse to it, or have a bad reaction to it,” the waitress continued. “The apple pie had some too, but the peach cobbler we’ve got doesn’t, if that might be easier for your stomach.”

“Ooh, can we get an order of that?” Peter asked, eyes bright.

“Sure thing,” Anna assured, and stepped away.

“Actually, if it is ‘nutmeg’... it smells rather like you.”

“Really?”

Gamora nodded.

“And it hits you wrong.”

She shrugged, but took another bite of pie regardless. “Only the smell, apparently. It’s smells too sour, to me. And a bit too much like the soil of a planet I crossed blades with the Universal Church of Truth.”

“Hmm. Biology is weird, man.”

“Agreed.”

“You like the pie though?” He grinned a little.

Gamora looked at him not-quite-sheepishly, fork already back in her mouth, having carried yet another bite. She nodded, glancing back down at the dessert.

He grinned. “Told you.”

Then Anna the waitress set down the peach cobbler.

“That... smells even better than the bacon,” Gamora said slowly, her expression a little predatory as she looked at it.

“I think you’ll like it, then,” the waitress said, only blinking a little at the odd comparison of the dessert to bacon. She did, after all, live and work in New York. She overheard much weirder things on an hourly basis, around here.

“Thank you,” the assassin said quietly, pushing the two-thirds of a slice of blueberry pie back toward Peter, and pulling the cobbler toward herself.

“Peaches, then.”

“Yes,” she said, and took a bite of the cobbler. She made a noise that might have been categorized as indecent.

The thief’s grin only got wider and brighter. “I think we have a winner.”

“Yes, yes we do. I concede your point: this is delicious and very worthwhile.” She smiled a little playfully at him. “Would you like some?”

“Sure.” He reached over with his fork, only for her to hold up her own, with a piece of cobbler balanced on it, in a perfect ratio of peach-filling to crust. He smiled and took it from her fingers gently and ate it. “Damn, you’re right. That’s really good. Anna, is this like a family recipe of yours?” he called across the diner.

The waitress looked over and beamed at them. “My momma’s, yeah. I’ll tell her it’s won over some new folks.”

“Hell yeah. Can we have another order or... three?”

The waitress laughed at them, but did eventually bring three more plates over.

Once settled in and enjoying baked goods properly, relaxing as only comfort food could make him relax, Peter asked, “So what’s your plan for Loki?”

“Well,” she mused. “I’m going to have to approach him in this guise, which will make him wary of me. He may not be aware that I’ve defected from Thanos’ ranks, so it will be best for the rest of you to keep a safe distance if you want to survive without attracting too much attention.”

“So keep Drax out of the picture, you’re saying.”

“And _you_ keep out of sight, and out of any line of fire,” she added.

Peter blinked at her suddenly. “How many weapons do you have on you right now?”

“Eighteen.”

The thief whistled.

“You?”

“About eight. Only ones that are concealable.”

She shrugged.

“Well, you’re wearing a hologram.”

“It does have that advantage.” She smiled a little.

“He’s got magic, though, and you said he can see through those. Is that bad?”

“So long as I make no moves to draw them, it would be more out of character for me to be without. Also, it will let him know that I do not feel entirely safe on this world without arms, which will even our playing field a bit. I can meet him after his show tonight, within sight of some security surveillance or a group of humans, so that he will be compelled not to make a scene.”

Peter nodded, thoughtful. “Good ideas, all. I’m glad you came with.”

“Yes you are.” She took another bite of cobbler.

 

~~

 

After curtain call, and after the main crowd had cleared, the theater’s donors and patrons came down from their boxes, watching Peter take pictures of tableaus the actors improvised amongst each other on the stage: the couples, the fools, and all the rest. Laughter and good feelings ran high.

Peter was a bit thrown off by the major component of this secret identity of Loki’s:  a personality so Anti-Loki that Peter caught himself losing track of who he was looking at, despite the fact that he had personally watched Loki _put that face on_ when they’d first met! But a Tom Locke smile was so genuinely warm and open as to almost entirely erase the actor’s resemblance to a certain god of mischief.

Tom Locke was light and laughter: fair, pleasant, kind, and sincerely apologetic over seemingly every little thing. Night and day were at less contrast than the fair-haired actor and his brooding Norse god alter-ego––or was it the other way around? And what about Lady Loki? Peter got the disconcerting mental image of Tom Locke in a dress and heels, and abandoned that train of thought altogether for the sake of his own sanity; although he was secure enough in his own sense of identity to admit that the actor certainly had the legs for it.

He was fairly distracted by the unfolding of a singularly picture-perfect moment before him. MJ called, slightly demanding as well as still breathless with joy and adrenaline from fall of the final curtain, to Tom from the other side of the stage, causing him to look up with a bright, glowingly mirthful smile as she ran at him. Purely on reflex, because the rest of his brain couldn’t quite process it, Peter took photos as she ran at him and leapt, so that Tom caught her up in his arms, and spun her around so fast and so abruptly that she giggled and nearly shrieked like a little girl.

It was one of the most surreal moments of his life––as Spider-man or otherwise––and he was torn between prickling jealousy and mind-numbing confusion. As the spinning slowed to a halt, Tom (because Loki? No, surely not. Unless Peter was missing something important, here) pressed a chaste, oddly paternal kiss on MJ’s forehead before letting her go. Pete barely registered that the taller man said, just loud enough for him to be in hearing range of, “Reassure your dear boy that I have my eye on someone else, of late, darling, and that you have eyes only for him.”

MJ laughed at him, but did indeed approach Peter then, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Enough photos, Tiger. Time for the after-party.”

A whoop went up from the nearby minstrels, two of whom began to rock out on two lutes and drum––or at least make a damned admirable attempt at it. The results weren’t half bad, surprisingly.

The director raised her voice and said something about returning to the lobby for the aforementioned after-party, but Peter wasn’t paying attention, because MJ chose that moment to start kissing him, at which point everything else went away, and there was only Mary Jane. She smelled of sweat and stage makeup and he didn’t care in the least, because she was simply the best person in the world, his MJ, his red, and she was close and loved him as much as he loved her; and that never failed to make his heart _ache_ at how perfect, how incredible it felt. It took him a long while to remember why he’d been worried about anything earlier, or indeed why there could possibly be any need for worry at all, ever again.

Then she pulled away, gently, and whispered, “Come on. Just half an hour of party, and then we’re heading home.” She tugged at his hands.

Peter followed, as he always would, no matter where she might lead.

 

~~

 

MJ was right about there being some major disappointment amongst the female members of the cast, where Tom Locke’s apparent lack of interest was concerned––and possibly one or two of the men, too. Tom was polite, and warm, yet distant in a unique and somehow distinctly English sort of way, with most of his co-stars. He was rude and dismissive to no one, but nor did he let them tangle him too deeply in any conversations that did not truly interest him, and he seemed to flit between those few who could catch his attention and hold it for any amount of time like a hummingbird between flowers.

Inevitably, Tom was drawn from the crowd, waved over by the director––a brilliant woman, almost as tall as Tom with shrewd dark eyes behind her black-framed glasses, and more cool, down-to-earth composure than most people ever expected of anyone with theatrical inclinations––to meet the most famous of their patrons, Mr. Tony Stark, as the other leads had been, too.

Peter started to watch, then sharply looked away, like he was afraid looking would only hasten the onset of chaos.

MJ caught it. “What is it?”

“Uh. Remember I mentioned I accidentally wound up helping out a super-villain recently, and how we seem to be on kind of good terms?”

“Yes. I wish you’d tell me which one.”

“None you’ve heard of. I hadn’t ever heard of him ‘til the Iced Executioner Incident.”

“We have so many incidents with ominous titles,” MJ mused. “What about him?”

Peter considered how genuinely light-hearted and happy she’d been, ten minutes ago, being spun about like a little girl, and hesitated. “I thought I saw him, is all.” He didn’t like lying to MJ. Not even his little half-lies.

Mostly because much of the time, like now, she could see he was doing it. “Parker,” she warned.

“Later. It’s nothing big right now, I promise.”

“But it might be later?”

“Maybe. But not here, and not really involving us. Much.”

“You have until tomorrow afternoon, at the _absolute_ latest,” she insisted.

“Okay, okay,” he conceded.

 

~~

 

“All of you, meet Tom Locke, our newest addition to the troupe. Tom, here we have Mr. Anthony Stark, Miss Pepper Potts, Air Force Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, and Mr. Happy Hogan,” the director introduced.

Tom Locke offered each of them a winning smile and a handshake, feigning a lack of awareness for the way Tony Stark’s eyes lingered on him. “It’s lovely to meet you all, and thank you very much for your support. These students all have such genuine talent, that I have no doubt they will launch great careers for themselves in future.”

“What of your own career, Mr. Locke, if you don’t mind me asking?” Pepper inquired. “We’ve heard so little about you.”

Tom laughed, low and thoughtful. “Despite the theater being very much my mistress, Miss Potts, I’m otherwise a quite private person. I’m blessed with a certain amount of independent wealth from my late family, which has given me the advantage of working exclusively on stage without any real fear of penury. I don’t want to be involved with television or much of the cycling of rises and falls in fame that comes with being a more mainstream-oriented actor. Instead, I teach when I can find programs like this one devoted to education and charity, and I audition for the most interesting roles I can find, when not otherwise so occupied.”

“An actor allergic to fame,” Tony mused. “That’s a new one.”

“It’s not the fame I’m in it for. No more, perhaps, than you are Iron Man in order to earn anyone’s praise,” Tom returned.

The billionaire offered him a thoughtful, curious smile. “Quite right.”

“Tony is gifted with enough excessive fame,” Rhodey deadpanned, lightly teasing. “His cup so runneth over than it would never occur to him to need to put effort into getting attention, when entering a room will do.”

“You flatter me, honey,” Tony shot back, casually dismissive.

“For the record, I’m not his date.”

“I can vouch for that,” Pepper said, seemingly out of habit.

“These people, Mr. Locke, are no fun at all,” Tony sighed.

“Well, more is the pity. They seem quite lovely to me.” Tom smiled bright again.

Tilting his head a little, the inventor mused, “You’re a very positive person. Whenever I meet someone almost as preternaturally unflappable and content as yourself, so capable of navigating a room of such diverse personalities as this without even moderately offending anyone, I _always_ get the deep suspicion they’re secretly plotting to take over the world.”

Tom’s eyes brightened further, his smile taking on a secretive, confidential tilt. “I must have performed well, tonight, if you’re so quick to presume me a villain of such discernment and subtlety.”

“Pardon Tony, please,” Happy suggested. “He’s impossible to party-train where politeness is concerned. We’ve been trying and failing for years.”

“No pardon needed. I’m hardly offended.” He shot Tony a slightly different look then, subtly eyeing him up-and-down and letting the inventor see that he quite enjoyed the view.

“Tom!” someone called.

He half-turned to glance in the caller’s direction, then back to smile at the troupe’s patrons once more, and said with sincere apology, “Do please excuse me. I think I must extract my younger ‘brother’ from our wrestler’s attempt to regain his lost pride.” He bowed slightly, and swept away.

“He seems very kind,” Pepper said. “And Tony, just stop.”

“Oh, but I’ve barely started.” He was taking a chance to appreciate the man’s wardrobe––a surprisingly fine bespoke suit, he really _must_ be independently wealthy––and particularly the work of his tailor, who clearly appreciated how to best flatter the tall actor’s narrow hips and perfectly shaped behind. Rhodey elbowed him sharp enough to earn a curse, but Tony didn’t stop grinning, nor did he stop enjoying the view.

 

~~

 

Peter managed to beg off early, making up some photography-related reasons and swearing to tell Mary Jane everything tomorrow, going so far as to use sad puppy eyes on her before she would approve his escape. He then put on his mask and gloves, slipped off the rest of his clothes to reveal a familiar red-and-blue bodysuit, donned his utility belt and web-shooters, and took off swinging for a particular diner. It was a slim chance they would be there if they’d gone there directly, but it was a chance he planned to take. Otherwise he could at least ask around for info out back; they knew Spidey well, this diner.

He was relieved to find his quarry still present, apparently talking at length to one of the waitresses, who was laughing very hard at some of their verbal sparring. There were a ridiculous amount of small dessert plates she was trying to remove from their table, too. It looked like it was Anna on shift tonight. Peter was deeply relieved that these two seemed at least harmless enough in their pursuit of different desserts that he didn’t feel bad for sending them there. The woman appeared surprised when, after the waitress finally left their cheque with them, the cosplayer-looking guy set down an impressive stack of bills.

The hero in the red-and-blue suit set loose a couple Spider-tracers since he’d already shown them off tonight. Might as well give them a bigger test-drive.

Spidey only had to wait another twenty minutes or so for them to get one whole pie to go, which Peter Quill carried out. He followed them with his eyes at first, listening closely to them, then clambered silently along their path, getting just close enough to overhear them. His tracers were also following them, even more subtly.

“When did you acquire currency?”

“You have your specialties, I have mine. I pick-pocketed those jerks we ran into before we stopped at the theater. They were shmucks.”

“Shmucks?”

“It’s like ‘jerks’ but more Yiddish.”

Gamora looked thoughtful, at that.

“Theft is generally something I’m against, around here,” Spidey said, from right over their heads. He somehow wasn’t shocked to find some strange new weapons pointed at his head almost instantly. “Oh, those guns look interesting. Do they go ‘pew pew’? I love ‘pew pew’ guns.”

“What is that?” Gamora asked.

“I think he’s a local hero, uh, Spider-man, right?” At the costumed hero’s nod, he continued, “Yeah, I stumbled across some stuff about him when I was looking into the Avengers and related topics on the internet,” Quill mused. “I’m only a bit of a thief, these days, I promise. I just landed on this planet and needed a bit of a leg up. Also, she’d never had pie before. It was _so_ for a worthy cause.”

“ _How_ had you never had pie?” Spidey sounded scandalized.

“I’m not from around here,” she responded. “Why have you been following us since the diner?”

“When did you notice?”

“As soon as you began watching us.”

“Someone I’m good friends with overheard you targeting somebody at a theater earlier. He’s my photographer pal, and has exclusive rights to catching me on film, digital or otherwise. He sounded very concerned, and that worries me.”

“Isn’t that a little suspect? Do people think you’re him a lot?” asked the thief.

“It’s come up, but been proven wrong several times. We’ve been found in the same place plenty of times,” he said. Of course, all of those had been near-misses actually, and there was the time he got arrested and was only let out when Venom appeared, and all those other fun times. It was always, always by just the skin of his teeth that he got away with it. He really didn’t feel like getting into it now, though.

“Nice,” Quill muttered.

“So who are you looking for, and should I be concerned, Robin Hood?” Parker asked jovially. “Also why are you both still pointing guns at me?”

The pair on the ground glanced at each other and lowered their weapons after looking around to make sure no one else had seen them. No one had.

“You’ve no intention of interfering?” Gamora asked.

“Well, that would depend on your purposes. I have friends in that theater, though most of them don’t know I spend my free time dressed up like this.” He gestured toward himself. “So there’s things I need to know about what you’re up to.”

“You know Loki,” the assassin said suddenly.

“Awww, I was afraid you were gonna say something like that,” he sighed. Almost before they could quite react, he webbed them in place. Or, he tried to. He got the guy holding the pie, but Gamora managed to dodge a bit and only one of her legs got webbed down. The next bit of web he tried to shoot at her, she blasted in mid-air, sending it off-course, and setting it on fire. The flames went out quick once the remains of the webbing hit the ground.

“Nice shootin’, Tex,” Spidey commented, “but while you’re standing there conspicuously, can I point out that your leg seems to be doing a weird hazy mirage-like thing right now?”

It certainly was.

“Hologram malfunction. Great,” Quill muttered. “What the hell is this stuff?”

“It’s a formula based off of spider-silk that I invented myself. It’s nothing actually made by an animal’s body or anything, and especially not mine, so stop looking so grossed out,” Parker shot back. “Now, we’re alone for now in this alley here, but that won’t last, because this is New York. What do you want with Loki?”

“We want to know what he’s doing here, and if he might help us,” Gamora said. “We mean no harm to him.”

“You’re a bit heavily armed for that.”

Gamora rolled her eyes and turned off her hologram entirely, showing her true face for the sake of expediency. “Humans are a volatile species and don’t seem to always take too kindly to outsiders. The internet and Quill here impressed upon us the importance of that knowledge. I’m a former assassin, and I tend to feel more secure on a potentially hostile planet when I have my weapons on hand. Surely you understand.”

“So you’re always that pretty. Cool.”

Raising an eyebrow slowly, she notably adjusted the aim of her weapon so it pointed somewhere a bit lower on Spider-man’s person.

“Hey, woah, don’t aim there. I’m already in a relationship, and it’s monogamous, so I’m totally not hitting on you,” Spidey rambled quickly.

She tilted her head back further, looking down her nose at him despite the fact he still clung to a brick wall and was thus about eight feet above her head. “You do not believe we mean no harm, do you?”

“Well, you’re trying to track down a god of lies who has some nasty people after him. I really have no proof you’re not bullshitting me,” he admitted.

“We will return to our ship tonight, then, and won’t do any harm,” Quill said.

“What?” Gamora asked, flat and annoyed.

“As a gesture of good faith.” He shot her a very pointed look, then returned her attention to Spider-man. “She’ll come back here alone, to one of the shows at that theater, so she can approach him afterward. Sound good? Both of you? Hmm?”

Reluctantly, the assassin put away her gun away and said to the web-slinger, “You may tell him this, and tell him to be prepared as he may believe necessary, but please also tell him that I have defected from all of those who made me what I am. He will need to know that.”

“Oh. Uh. Good?” Spider-man cocked his head a bit, feeling baffled. “Where are you guys staying, anyway?”

“Jersey,” Quill said.

“Aw, dude, I’m sorry,” Parker deadpanned.

“We had to land a space-ship somewhere in the tri-state area without causing a panic,” the thief sighed, shrugging as much as his web-wrapping would allow, as Gamora pulled out a knife and knelt slightly to cut her leg free, apparently needing quite a bit of effort to cut the tough material. “Abandoned warehouses work out; although the commute here was a bit of a pain in the ass.”

“How many people are with you?” Parker asked.

“You’re more intelligent than you look,” muttered the assassin, as she stood up, reactivating her holographic disguise, and began cutting Quill free.

“Letting you two go at all is still requiring a lot of trust from me, that you won’t either track me down later with master-assassin skills and try to kill me, or Loki, or something,” said Spidey.

“What would you then recommend?” Gamora asked.

Behind the mask, Parker grinned. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He glanced at his wrists without moving his head, and saw that his spider-tracers from earlier had successfully clung: one to the thief’s coat-tails, and one to Gamora’s left boot. “I’ll be in touch. And uhm, what’s your name, Miss?”

She looked up from her work on the webbing. “Gamora.”

Spidey nodded. “Cool. I’ll let Loki know you came a’calling. Bye!” He saluted them, and darted away.

Gamora watched him swing away, eyes narrowing. “Damn.”

“Hey, we’re totally innocent here, though, right?”

“I didn’t expect Loki to invest in mortal guard-dogs,” she mused.

“I don’t think they work together. I think... I think they’re friends maybe.”

“Friends,” Gamora repeated, sounding dubious. “With a mortal. Loki.”

“Is that not suited to his, uh... idiom?” He frowned. “Wait, wrong literary device. Damn Monty Python confusing me.”

“What?”

He waved off the question. “You think it’s unlikely?”

“Unless he has changed quite a lot, since last we met,” the assassin confirmed. “It is possible. It has been a long time.”

“How long?”

“Not too long, but long enough that I am now uneasy.” She cut the last bit of webbing free and tossed it aside.

“Ah, sweet freedom. Let’s take the pie back to the others and try not to get harassed by any more costumed vigilantes, right?”

She sighed. “Right.” Reluctantly, she stalked after him, as Quill sauntered away while whistling only a bit maddeningly.

 

~~

 

It was another half hour of being forced to behave––seeing Peter Parker depart, and wondering why the younger man shot him such oddly concerned parting glances––before Tony could manage to slip away, and melt into the party’s crowd as few people ever noticed he was really capable of, when he wanted to.

The search for his chosen prey took a little longer than usual, mostly because Tom Locke seemed to be hiding from the crowd for a brief while, looking relieved to be away from the noise and so many people seeking his attention, or wanting to show him off to one patron or another. He really was pretty, Tony noted: stage make-up mostly wiped away, but a few traces lingering at one corner of his jaw, and both temples. His features were fine, expressive, and elegant in a way that was not quite delicate.

His light ruddy hair and fairer skin only made that near-delicacy finer, and more refined––and also terribly familiar. He’d looked almost more pink than pale, when in a crowd and smiling so brightly as he often did. Less so now, standing still with his expression relaxed.

Tom’s eyes were shut, and his arms folded over his chest, where he leaned against the wall under the stairs leading up to the Mezzanine, his red-gold eyelashes fluttering now and then as thoughts moved through his head. He didn’t even open his eyes before he said, “Hello again, Mr. Stark.”

“Okay, I give. How did you know it must be me?”

Tom half-smiled. “An inspired guess. Perhaps I’ve been thinking of you,” he said, definitely flirting, and with a little more seriousness than he’d shown any others who had started off the night flirting with him earlier, out in the crowd.

In his slightly unconventional way, Tony had flirted when they were introduced; he just hadn’t flirted the way the others had. He laid down a little challenge. Apparently, he had the man’s attention, as a result, and he _liked_ that. “Well, I’m flattered.”

Tom’s eyes unclosed, showing themselves to be a very rich shade of blue, in this light. “But are you interested?”

“Of course I am.” The billionaire shrugged it off casually. “I’m often interested.”

“So what sets interest apart from something more like fascination?” He smiled a little. “Something more likely to bring you closer.”

“Someone does something fascinating.”

“And have I?”

“Oh, yes.”

Tom drew his teeth over his lower lip slowly, his expression still warm and playful, but with brilliant mischief making his eyes glitter a bit more darkly. “What then, have I done?”

“Fishing for praise?”

“Fishing for answers to the question, ‘what is it that fascinates Tony Stark?’” Tom shot back, still smiling.

Tony came closer, stood beside him, and also leaned back against the wall. “Did you base your performance on anyone in particular?”

“A few people. Why?”

“Act 4, Scene III. Who was that?”  
Tom looked deeply amused by that, his eyes widening and then nearly squeezing shut as he chuckled softly, though the wideness of his grin suggested he would laugh louder if it were less pleasantly quiet around them here. “I based that on a man with whom I have _long_ been acquainted.”

“How acquainted?”

“He’s practically family,” Tom said, his voice heavy with irony.

“There’s a story there.”

“Many stories. Not many of them are pleasant conversation,” Tom returned. “I’m surprised you ask after that one. Who did it remind you of?”

“You know the other Avengers?”

“I’ve seen them in the papers now and then, yes.”

“One of them.”

“There’s a story there. Tell it.”

Tony shot him a look, then shrugged. “He’s not a genius by any means, but he’s not a fool––well, not much. He commonly has more moments of it than even I do, though, and I’m frankly ridiculous. Oh, and let’s not forget to mention: he is in _love_ ,” Tony explained, rolling his eyes.

The actor snorted, amused. “At first sight?”  
“Oh yeah. And they’re so sickly-sweet and adolescently awkward about it as to make my teeth hurt, sometimes. The lady he so likes has no excuse, because Dr. Foster nearly _is_ a genius. That was only half of it, though. The other part...” He pointed sharply at Tom then. “You, sir, nailed this part down _perfectly_ , so perfectly I nearly cried laughing.” He softened his expression, and placed a hand over his heart and quoted, in fairly good imitation of Tom’s performance, which in his mind was a perfect imitation of how Thor would say such a thing to Jane: “‘I do not shame to tell you what I _was_ , since my conversion so _sweetly tastes_ , being the thing I am.’”

Shaking with shocked mirth and sniggering helplessly, Tom almost slumped a bit down the wall. There was a slightly darker, sharper edge to the laugh: strange, as though it had been startled out of him. “Oh, how you do that so _well!_ ”

“I was like that too, you see! That, dear Tom, is because you see the same thing in it that I do: that there’s no zealot like a convert, especially if it’s conversion to being a sensitive and caring sort of man, with stoically noble intent––one who also, in the case of a certain Avenger, also happens to still go around pounding things to a pulp with an oversized hammer pretty often, which suggests to me he used to be a lot more rash and war-like before his epiphany.” He bumped his arm against the other man’s idly. “You’re a clever little bastard.”

Laughter dying down, Tom wiped at his eyes. “I had not honestly expected _anyone_ to notice that,” he said, his tone a little cooler, more sober: less air and light and sunshine, but not all somber either. “You’re far more observant than you look.”

“Of course I am. I’m a genius, a showman, and I learned to lie with deft ease from a very young age,” Tony said. “What of you?”

“Pure natural talent, and a tendency to take pleasure in manipulating the reactions of others: the same as many other actors.”

“They aren’t all so aware of that.”

“And as such, they can be a bit dull, yes,” Tom admitted, “but they are liars nevertheless, and very good ones. I respect talent when I see it.”

“I’m very talented,” the inventor assured.

“So I hear,” the actor mused. “And I’m beginning to see.” He shot Tony a look. It was, in fact, more of a leer.

“Who else did you study, for when he was really the villain?”

“A villain. Who else?”

Something about the cooler edge to that statement sent a shiver down Tony’s spine. “What sort of villain?”

“A liar. A jealous brother. A weaver of webs of deceit.” The actor held his gaze steadily now. “Funny. You keep your composure so _well_ when I’m Tom Locke for them all out there,” he gestured toward the lobby. “And yet when I take on a few darker mannerisms, of his, you look as though you wish to devour me.”

Tony swallowed thickly. “I’ve met you before. I thought I must have seen you in a show, but I think I’ve _met_ you, now.”

“No you haven’t,” Tom lied softly, with perfect ease.

“I’ve seen you before. I’ve seen that _look_.”

“What look?”

“Like you want to pull me apart with your teeth.”

Tom flashed a smile. It was not Tom’s smile, but Loki’s. “Villain. I mentioned.”

“It’s not a bad look. How much villain is there in you, Locke?”

The actor shivered, hesitant for a moment, as though suddenly having trouble reading Tony’s intentions. “Tom Locke has only feigned villainy, but I’m not all sure it’s him you’re after.”

“You have a secret identity, then?”

“Several. I’m an actor, Stark.”

“Tony.”

Tom raised his eyebrows, expectant.

After a few long moments more in quiet, the inventor murmured low, “Say it.”

“Tony,” he obliged. “ _Dear_ Tony, I don’t think you know at all what it is you really want from me.”

“I know _exactly_ what I want from you.”

Tom turned to him then, leaning in close so the inventor was between himself and the wall. He caught Tony’s chin between long fingers. “You want the dark you saw earlier, I think.” His lips hovered very close, his breath almost cool. His breath smelled of tea, his clothes held the faint the tang of fresh sweat, but there was something else to his scent: something fainter, colder, with a hint of spice.

Tony really couldn’t deny the actor’s words, not plausibly. Tom was very much right: the laughing, playful and lovable bright Tom Locke he’d seen in the crowd had been lovely, and entertaining, and charming––and not even half as much a turn-on as this game back here, when he showed off something darker and put such an _edge_ on it as to make Tony feel as though the man were threatening to cut him with words and desires. “And if I do?”

“I can provide,” the player said, low and hungry.

Tony shuddered, taking hold of the lapels of Tom’s suit and pulling him down that crucial inch closer to catch his mouth. _Not healthy_ should probably have crossed his mind. _Not safe_ as well. But Tom Locke tasted like glaciers and apples, thyme and cloves, and he kissed like he wanted to drink Tony up and breathe him in like smoke, so hesitation and intent to stop were the two furthest things from the inventor’s mind. Then Tom pressed closer, pinning him hard against the wall, hands slipping under his coat and up his sides almost possessively, exploring Tony’s body through his clothes like he meant to mark him with those graceful, long-fingered hands.

Then the actor broke away from his mouth to lick and bite at his neck. “Am I the first villain you’ve lusted for, then?”

Almost against his will, Tony thought of another tall and pretty man, with impossibly green eyes and so much rage and so many fractures behind the skillful liars’ masks he wore––he remembered being disconcerted and oddly disappointed by tension built between them dissipating with a mere _clink_ of spear-on-reactor, like he’d been denied the chance to fight Loki’s mind with his own, head-on, and like his genius had been denied a chance to take on so-called _magic_ and win. Some dreams he’d had after the invasion of New York hadn’t been nightmares at all, though they’d featured those wicked green eyes and a very different turn of events unfolding in his penthouse. “N-not quite, no.”

Tom moved against him, a casual, fricative undulation, paired with a bite at his neck. “Oh, from a hero like you that _is_ interesting. Do tell me more, Tony.”

The inventor hissed, his hands sliding down Tom’s back to his hips to keep a bit more pressure between them in key locations. “N-not a good idea.” He countered Tom’s movement by running his short nails down the back of the taller man’s neck, earning a low and almost cracked sound from him. _Focus on the moment. Not Norse gods all dressed in leather and metal._

“Why not?” A lick along the line of his jaw, and then Tom nipped at his earlobe and tugged just slightly. “Tell me who you want to have you like this.” His voice was a low, almost commanding purr, like the slow pressure of cat-claws against skin.

 _God, because now I’m not thinking of_ you _at all, and that’s just––god yes... NO! No, not good. You’re even starting so_ sound _like trickster god and that––_ Tony pushed at his chest gently. “Stop.”

The actor froze, hands leaving Tony abruptly, as though burned. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s not you. I just––I was thinking of _you_ , until you asked that, and now I’m really, really not.” He tried to regain control of his breathing. “That’s––it’s really sort of not fair to you. At all.”

“Well, I would rather not be mere facsimile,” there was something low and quiet in that, like it wasn’t something admitted often. “I suppose I started off on the wrong foot for that, however.” There was the softer, less shadowed Tom Locke again, accent crisp and polished, his tone light and not villainous at all, really. “But thank you. Most men I’ve known wouldn’t let something like that really stop them.”

Tony swallowed and kissed the man lightly, just once more. “For what it’s worth, you’re a _really_ great villain,” he said, with feeling.

“The wrong one for you, though? Wrong height, perhaps?” Wry, self-mocking.

“Not at all,” Tony muttered, pulling his head back a bit further so it rested against the wall and he could focus a little better. “God. You even look like him. How’d I miss that?” There was a hint of outright suspicion forming there.

An unreadable flash of something crossed his face, followed by a bright Tom Locke smile. “Hah. I’ve been typecast.” He gestured idly with one hand behind his back, the other tracing a sigil on the wall, to put a little spell in place. His faith in his own acting abilities notwithstanding, a weak recognition-deflecting charm could do wonders for any disguise. It was quick and simple––simpler than illusion, even. And necessary, given how observant he knew this one could really be. _Not yet._ He couldn’t afford to be too incautious, he told himself. It wasn’t fear of rejection, or of the exact _opposite_ of rejection and how that might do still greater damage; he told himself that more quietly, so that he could almost pretend he hadn’t thought of it at all.

Tony blinked, as though suddenly losing sight of something, once the spell kicked in. The result was an even more self-deprecating smile than before, as he recovered from the disorientation that was a common side-effect of such a spell at close range. “Sorry. Must’ve been the light and your cheekbones, I think––and also, like I said, you’re really good. At villainy.”

Tom kissed him, a little less chastely than the one Tony had tried to leave off with. “Quite alright, Tony,” he said, just a hint of that darker edge again. “It’s been––enlightening.” He pulled back with obvious reluctance, and a very odd smile, caught smack in the middle between purest Tom Locke and purest god of mischief . “Thank you.” Straightening up, he bowed his head slightly in a nod, and then strolled away.

Standing under the stairwell, Tony silently swore, a great deal, talking himself down mentally so he could step out from under the stairs while not visibly half-hard. “So not good, Stark,” he muttered to himself, folding his arms over his chest.

He’d not dwelled on that flare of inexplicable attraction to Thor’s little brother back during the whole Invasion Debacle and for a while after, even though it had cut through so much anger and loathing at the time, and still registered as desire, however tempered with a dark edge.

Back then, he’d stared the mad god down and, as usual, had been thinking in about seven directions all at once: 1) make him pay in blood, 2) no, don’t make him pay in blood, you’re a hero now, act like one, 3) how do I end this, 4) how can I wipe that smile off his face, 5) maybe getting laid would do him some good, and saving the world _that_ way would be great, especially with- 6) -how unfairly attractive he is and how sharp he is, the crazy ones are always so good in bed, and 7) I want to take him apart and watch him break, and hearing him say my name breathlessly when he does would make it even better.

Then Loki had tried to apply mind control and Tony’s thoughts concerning that had drifted to absolutely filthy places with undue haste, just before that little _clink_ caught them both seemingly off-guard.

And so he’d made a dick joke and gotten thrown out of a window.

It should not be the sort of thing that would still stick in his head years later, so that when a lovely tall and attractive actor pinned him to a wall, Tony really _shouldn’t_ wind up thinking of _Loki_ of all people and get twice as turned on, just because Thor had recently told him the trickster was back in town. There was no reason, the inventor insisted to himself, why Loki should be more of a turn-on than Tom Locke.

 _Except that Loki outwitted me, and not just me but S.H.I.E.L.D. and all of the other Avengers. And he put on a_ show _with it, had us all trapped, stuck doing precisely what he wanted us to. He’s brilliant and broken and gorgeous and could have wiped us all out  that day, while wearing that unfairly pretty smile. We won by luck, and good timing, and by that portal being too narrow for that whole armada to come through all at-_ Tony stopped there, a sudden epiphany lighting up his frontal cortex like Christmas in Las Vegas. “Holy shit. A con within a con within a con, that son of a bitch!”

 

~~

 

“THOR!”

The Norse god had fallen asleep on the couch in the mansion. He often did, on Wednesday nights. They hadn’t figured out the cause yet, but it was weirdly consistent. He sat up, startled, hammer in hand, then looked at Tony in confusion.

“Your brother,” Tony said in cold, vicious tones, “is an absolutely brilliant _asshole_!”

Thor blinked at him. “This is news to you, Tony Stark?”

“To _this_ degree? YES!” He lifted a tablet with a great deal of complex mathematics displayed on it in a manner he knew to be mostly-incomprehensible, but he didn’t care to tidy it up just now. “That portal he opened, with the materials he had, especially that much iridium: Loki should have been able to open a portal more than five times wider than the one we had to work against. Why would he let Selvig work off of plans for a machine that could only open a smaller one?”

Thor’s confusion only mounted. “I-”

“He didn’t want his army to _win_ ,” Tony concluded. “If that whole armada had hit us at once, Manhattan would’ve been mostly rubble before they even tried shooting a nuke at all of us. We would have been bowled over and overwhelmed from the start, right up until all but Bruce wound up part of the lining of the crater the bomb would’ve left behind.”

The thunder god shook his head. “Hela told me of that, yes.”

Tony felt a bit put out. “And you didn’t think that might be important to mention?”

“I was not certain?”

“I’m missing too many variables, here. I only know so much about what might be back in Asgard that he wants, or any of the other realms, whatever. You said they’re all connected, so if that army and Thanos had landed _here_ -”

The thundered rose to his feet very quickly. “If they had, then Asgard, too, would soon become a target, as well as all the worlds connected together by Yggdrasil.”

“Is that something Loki would generally care about?” Tony asked lightly.

“He tried to kill off an entire world that he perceived to be a threat to Asgard. He may have desired her respect, and to rule her, but he would never wish to see Asgard destroyed, or taken by such an outside force as that,” Thor rumbled. “And he would go to great lengths to prevent the likes of Thanos from going near his daughter’s kingdom in Niflheim.”

Tony blinked, dropping the tablet on a now empty section of couch, its stylus spinning about and weaving through his fingers in a seemingly unconscious fashion. “Thor. I think your brother sort of tried to save a couple of worlds in––and I’m putting this as kindly as I can––the way he could deliberately piss off you, and probably Odin as well, to the greatest possible extent, without getting himself killed or failing in the plan altogether.”

Thor took a deep breath, anger visibly smoldering, then let it out in a stream of curses in a language Tony didn’t recognize. “That actually sounds _very much_ like my brother,” he then concluded, sounding deeply exasperated.

“I win!” Tony declared, tossing the stylus in the air, then hitting a hitch in his train of thought that made him almost miss catching it on its way back down. “So that Thanos guy he made that deal with is probably even more pissed off at him than we thought.”

“It is one of my brother’s greatest skills, inspiring such ire in others.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m still pissed about the invasion. That was fucked up. He couldn’t think to maybe ally with us?”

“He was being observed by those he dealt with, by his connection to the scepter he wielded. They would have known immediately of his betrayal.”

“Well fuck.” Tony sighed. “I actually can’t blame him too much for that.”

“Though the wanton destruction he committed was mostly an effort to pain me.”

“Right. I’m not exactly forgetting that he was an evil little shit, on that front.”

“You have been thinking a lot about my brother, it seems,” Thor mused.

Tony tried to very deliberately _not_ think about Tom Locke purring in his ear, _Tell me who you want to have you like this_. He failed. “He started it,” was all he said, in a low mutter, as he turned and strode away from the couch. He was aware of the Thunderer’s eyes lingering on him curiously as he did so.

 _Dammit_.

 

~~

 

After disentangling from first Tony Stark in their brief interlude under the stairs, and then the after-party as a whole––which had required his making one or two more rounds through the crowd for about an hour to keep up appearances––Loki made his exit on foot, still in disguise. He turned down a particularly isolated-looking alleyway, and was entirely unsurprised by the sound of someone dropping down just behind him on a line of webbing.

“So... how’s things?” Peter asked, from behind his own mask.

Loki turned with a self-mocking half-smile, meeting the gaze of the upside-down youth. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Which one? I lost track.”

“Pick one.”

“Tom Locke: let’s start there. Are you insane? He has _your face_.”

“How better to exert very little magic, while concealing myself such that none who have ever known Loki Odinson would ever think to look for me where I am, let alone suspect me even when they do look upon me?”

“Yeah, about that.” Peter dropped down gracefully. “You’re hiding from something big and nasty, aren’t you?”

“Several of them, yes. I have a real talent for collecting powerful enemies, particularly on the rare occasion I decide to be something other than purely chaotic and mischievous.” A pause. “Not that most people notice.”

Peter tilted his head. “Maybe like when you seem to be trying to take over the world?”

“Well done, you,” Loki acknowledged, smiling more genuinely.

“How did you try and take over?”

“Alien invasion. I may be responsible for creating the Avengers, incidentally: not as a concept, but actually forcing them to go from concept to reality.”

Behind the mask, Peter gaped. “That was _you?!_ ”

“Yes.”

“How was––how did––that was you being _benevolent_?!”

“No, no. _You_ are a better example of that. Also, there was a story of another example that managed to survive despite various christian influences––if you’re interested in knowing where _you and I_ stand, I might recommend you research a story called _Lokka Táttur._ ”

Peter folded his arms over his chest. “I, uh... I saw that one.”

“Well, then-”

“Wait, no, back up. What was the taking-over-the-world bit in aid of?”

“You’ll notice it didn’t work.”

“Well, yeah-”

“Did you wonder who was invading, how many there might be, and what sort of leader might be commanding them?”

A long pause followed.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“So you brought them here-”

“Because I had no other means to get back to the nine realms for reasons difficult to explain, they wanted to make use of me, and letting them believe that they could do so left me in a position to be underestimated by all concerned. I thus let them believe I would open the door for them whenever they wished, when in fact I planned to make sure it would never open for them again, and to make sure that their injuries would be sufficient to prevent them trying again too soon.” He cleared his throat. “Also, it gave me an opportunity to harm Thor in a number of vicious little ways that you really shouldn’t worry about.”

“As long as I won’t wind up in the crossfire again, there.”

“No. Not now that he’s worked out I’m apparently feeling _benevolent_ toward you.”

“Which, by the way, I’m in equal parts sort of grateful for, and creeped out by.” He cleared his throat. “On the subject of discomfort, can I just ask––MJ?”

“What of her?”

“You were... you. And happy. At the same time. She was involved.”

Loki held his gaze for a long few moments. “She reminds me of my daughter.”

“Oh. Wait, what?”

“Hela, goddess of the dead. She is real, and my daughter.”

“And Mary Jane reminds you of her?”

“Mary Jane has a tragic history of her own, as you do. She covers it well, as you do. Her strength, her protectiveness of you and your secrets, reminds me of Hela.” Loki smiled a bit absently. “I assure you, it’s nothing to do with her rulership of a kingdom of the dead in Niflheim.”

“That’s––well. I haven’t heard her laugh like that before, ever, so.” He trailed off, clearing his throat again. “Thank you. And thanks for the help with the internship, too, I think.”

Loki smiled faintly. “You worry.”

“Yyyeah, kinda. He’s sort of. Well, he’s Tony Stark. And you’re apparently my patron god or something. Things go wrong.”

“He won’t be involved with Tom, if that’s your concern.” An odd half-smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I won’t trick him into my bed that way.”

“And now the conversation is awkward.”

“I have no intention of destroying your employer. He’s much more interesting alive. In fact, he consistently surprises me.”

“But, uh... I get the feeling benevolence isn’t involved here.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“I don’t think I actually want to know any more than that,” Peter said slowly. “Also, I may be in the doghouse until I actually explain to MJ what’s going on with me, and the internship, and why I was a bit jumpy before we left the party. I’d like to tell her a bit about you––not Tom, though.”

Loki considered, eyebrows raised. In truth, he was a bit astounded that someone had thought to _ask permission_ so sincerely. “You’re terribly sincere for a liar, sometimes.”

“Call me quirky.”

“You may tell her. I thank you.”

“Oh good,” Peter said, voice heavy with relief. “She can usually tell when I’m leaving things out––when I lie, there’s a higher chance of getting away with it, but she’s got an eye for omission like you wouldn’t _believe_.”

Loki laughed at him.

“You’re in a good mood.”

The god considered. “I suppose I am.”

Peter made a thoughtful sound. “Well. Hey, if it takes flirting with Tony Stark...”

“Don’t push it.”

“Okay, noted. Oh, one more thing that’s super important.”

“Yes?”

“So I went to get some air partway through the first act, because recognizing you was really, really alarming, and these two people were staring at the poster outside and said they now knew where someone was that they’d been looking for. One looked like a wannabe space-cowboy, but I think he was actually human. The lady with him... I caught up with them after the show. She said her name was Gamora.”

Loki stood very, very still, a mixture of surprise, bemusement, and mild alarm crossing his features for a few moments before he managed to piece his previous calm back together, his good mood souring a little. “You live. That’s reassuring.”

“Gee, thanks. She said, uhm, that she’d back off for now, but will come back here alone, to one of the shows here. She wants to meet with you afterwards. She also said it was really important to tell you that she’s defected from all of those who made her what she is. I assume that means something to you?”

The trickster hummed, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “It could be a lie, of course. Where did they go?”

“Oh, I put a couple of tracking units on them while distracting them with webs and stuff. They seem to be keeping their word and heading back to New Jersey without major incident, so far,” Peter said, checking the monitor on his wrist again to be sure. “Yep. They’re still on the subway. Apparently the guy, Peter Quill, is enjoying Gamora’s reactions to the typical New York City subway weirdos.”

“Quill?” Loki asked sharply. “His name was Quill?”

“Yeah, why? Is it important?”

Stepping closer to the spider, the trickster said, “Very. Important. There are only so many coincidences in this world, and the last Avatar of Life on this planet was called Meredith Quill, and her son went mysteriously missing the night that she died.” His features went slack with sudden shocked epiphany. “It’s not him. Gamora would not suffer him to live, but neither has she handed him to Thanos... she really must have either defected, or she does not know of his heritage.”

“You have totally lost me.”

“You asked once, Peter, who it is I am looking for, lately.”

“Uh, yeah, I did.”

“I am looking for a threat to the entire universe, who should in theory reside on this planet. I narrowed down his or her location to this city, and I have been hunting for him ever since. Thanos is the mad creature who sent me to Earth to steal a powerful object for him in exchange for an army with which to take the Earth; he is also one of the most powerful beings in our entire galaxy, and has many ‘children’ adopted or descended from him alike, converted into killing machines and weapons for him, of which Gamora was one he adopted, tortured, and transformed.”

“Holy crap, dude.”

“I don’t understand why you mortals so love that expression,” Loki sighed.

“So this, uh, Avatar person?”

“There is an architecture to history. In the multiverse, universes of similar structure tend to grow off of particular vines of shared potential beginnings, and endings. I saw beyond our universe and into that void between, while I was kept by Thanos in his sanctuary, recovering from my long fall through a rift in time and space created by a disaster of my own making. It was not empty. There is another universe wherein the Avatar of Life has defeated and destroyed the Avatar of Death, and nothing can ever die there. Not from illness, not from insupportable genetic mutations, not from injury, and not from being eaten by something else.”

“Okay, ew.”

“The walls are thin in Thanos’ Sanctuary, because in that other universe, he was slain there, and Mistress Death herself was slain with him. That other universe is pressing in, there, desirous of expanding into our universe, having devoured all resources of their own universe, and having nothing left to eat now except one another... and/or other universes’ resources.”

“This all sounds kinda horrifying.”

“That is why the Avatar of Life must die, somewhere far, far from Sanctuary, before the Cancer-verse can break through and claim him or her for their own cause. They have their own Avatar of Life to do the job, but there is greater risk of breaking their own self-perpetuating patterns if they are forced to use him instead. In addition, it will require being very tricky, to lure Thanos away from them, with all the hooks they have managed to bury in his mind, preventing him from seeing that his actions would kill Mistress Death, with whom he is enamored.”

“Oh, so that’s how he’s the Avatar of Death?”

“Yes.”

“Who picks the Life one?”

“Fate alone, and purity of heart and intentions.”

“Well, that’s weird.”

“The universe is never anything less than bizarre, Spider-man.”

“So... Gamora isn’t evil and trying to kill you, then?”

“Consciously? No.” He hesitated. “That said, Thanos can leave little shards of impulse in the minds of others which prevents the host’s awareness of them. If he has perhaps left her with a compulsion to kill me, this could still become quite a mess.”

“Ooh, awkward.”

“Or, she will be hunted down and murdered in cold blood along with myself and Mr. Quill, by Thanos’ forces, or those of the Cancer-verse, since they are now closer than they have ever before been to breaking through into our universe. The whispers are being heard now, even here on earth,” the trickster mused. “On that note, I must return home and strengthen some of the wards in my apartment.”

“But just... what are you going to do?”

“Keep recovering the shreds of my pseudo-sanity and my magic, as well as continuing to search for the Avatar of Life, whom I will probably have no choice but to murder, no matter how good of a person he or she happens to be. Whoever it is will be a hero. They are always good souls, more is the pity.”

“Well, can’t they... fight it, then?”

“Quill’s mother could not, according to my daughter, and I have seen Meredith Quill’s soul. She was... golden,” He said softly. “She was good. And she still reached out to her son in her last moments, and the forces of Life she might have imbued him with, had he not sensed them subconsciously enough to pull away from her then, would have burned us all, long ago.”

Peter let his head hang loosely. “Wow, this is awful.”

“Yes.”

“Jeez. Uhm. I’m sorry.”

“It is no fault of yours. In fact, I owe you thanks, for your aid.”

“You, uhm, you don’t, Loki. You’re... You’re important to MJ, you know. And I really didn’t want them to kill you, so I guess you are to me too.”

The god glanced away. “I... suspected.”

“Is she important to you? Am... am I?”

Loki met his gaze and held it steadily then. “As much as I might have preferred to avoid such complications... I would seem to be already acting like I am patron god to both of you, in different ways. The fact that I did so with each of you apart, and only knew of your association with one another later, suggests to me that I too am being inexorably pulled by fate. Or, perhaps, you are both also aiding me.” He shrugged with a crooked half-smirk. “You interest me.”

“No offense, but I don’t know whether to be elated or terrified.”

“Nor do I,” the trickster admitted.

At that, Peter couldn’t help but smile a bit, not quite visibly through the mask. “So we’re friends, then.”

“Yes, you could also say that.”

“Cool.”

The god chuckled. “Goodnight, Spider-man,” he bid. “Until next time.”

“Goodnight, Loki.” He threw out a line of webbing toward the top most part of the alley wall and tugged.

The god of mischief watched him go, as the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man took to the air, back to home and hearth, and the ire of his lover.

The night air was very cool, and Loki could smell a storm forming not-quite naturally nearby: something putting Thor in a mood, no doubt. He wondered what it might be, as he strode through the brightly-lit nighttime of New York City in disguise once more, to a safe, dark place where he could sleep without fear, for brief periods of time. He’d had to carve it out for himself almost like a mortal, and had carved strong wards, seals and sigils into the walls and floors, with only his bare hands, and ice. Each mark had burned, then seemed to slowly vanish and heal itself once he completed the spell it was part of.

The place was his. It hummed with his magic, and sheltered him, hid him away from the eyes of all. It was the only place Loki was truly safe, in Midgard. And it was very empty.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is discussion of the occasional benefits of straight-forwardness, Tony Stark showing off his candy-land to his new intern, and all appears well. Except the Kree. They appear well-armed, which does not usually bode well.

“Let us in, Rocket!”

“Not until you get the two tracking devices off from abouts your person!”

Gamora and Quill exchanged looks, then turned back to the slightly uncomfortable sight in front of them. It was uncomfortable precisely because of how hard it was to keep looking at. It was, after all, trying very hard to convince them that what they were looking at was Somebody Else’s Problem.

“Can you lower the SEP and say that again?” Quill shouted back.

Suddenly the strange angles of metal and junk and damaged warehouse wall in front of them coalesced into the form of a spaceship without anything about it changing. Except the color. Suddenly its colors stood out much more vividly.

“You’ve got trackers on your boots, the both of you!” Rocket shouted.

“Oh those. Well. Yeah, we’d _decided_ to leave ‘em on,” Quill shouted back. He lifted his left boot and very briefly activated its rocket on low enough not to throw off his center of gravity, but more than enough to cause the spider-tracer clinging to his sole to explode abruptly.

Gamora pointedly stomped one heel very hard. Dragging it to one side scraped off all of the pieces of what was once a Spider-tracer.

Rocket lowered the ramp for them both, and up it they climbed into the belly of the ship and towards the ship’s drab excuse for a dining room. The narrow galley kitchen took up a third of the total space, leaving enough room for a table that Groot could sit at only one end of without accidentally opening cabinets with some too-sudden too-branchy head movements.

“What... what aroma is that?” Drax asked from his corner of the table there, where he had been unsuccessfully arm wrestling Groot, who had actually fallen asleep halfway through the match, still without losing. The vegetal entity blinked awake when Drax’s sudden retreat from the contest off-balanced his branches enough to jar him.

“We’ve had a professional separate this pie into exactly three sections: one for each of you,” Quill announced gravely. “It’s cherry, which I’ve determined won’t kill any of you and contains no nutmeg.”

“What the hell is nutmeg?” Rocket asked.

Peter hesitated. “Doesn’t actually matter. Just sit down, you. Drax? Grab those plates from the cabinet near your elbow there?”

Watching shrewdly as the rest of the Guardians of the Galaxy crowded around what passed for a dining room table on their only slightly ridiculous ship, Rocket asked, “So whose tracers did you lead here?”

“A guard dog of Loki’s,” Gamora said, “but not one who would come after us. He is young and something of a fool, but still just mortal. He would, however, want proof that we kept our word to return to... this place-”

“Jersey,” Quill added.

“-this Jersey, instead of to Loki’s hideout to murder him or something,” she concluded. “He is hiding under a false mortal identity, working as a stage performer, and possibly using the theater to generate healing magics within his psyche to cope with damages Thanos left there.”

“Wait, what?” asked the only human present. “Was that what you meant about the playwright thing?”

Gamora nodded, watching the third plate at last loaded up with its alotted pie portion, and each plate set before the other Guardians present. She smirked a little bit at the uncontrolled twitching that overcame Rocket’s nose as he too in the aroma. Drax too looked almost dazed by the smell of it even as he slowly lifted a bite to his mouth. Only Groot seemed to suffer no hazy moment of paralysis and simply swallowed the plate and pie altogether in one bite, but at least he seemed happy enough with it.

After a merely seconds-long pause, Rocket seemed to loose control of his inhibitions for a moment, devouring pie in a less than dignified and altogether hasty manner.

Drax just sort of froze after the first bite, and remained unmoving then for so long that Quill genuinely worried this might be the alien version of an extreme allergic reaction. _Could that manifest as paralysis?_

Then abruptly the tattooed warrior swallowed without chewing, his eyes going from glassy to clear with unusual swiftness, and said, “So while we failed to catch the Avatar of Life, we did still locate Loki, but you suggest his powers may be depleted?” He shot Gamora a pointed look. “Is he worth seeking the aid of, without those magics he’s known for?”

“I’ve seen what he can do stripped of his magics. Even if all he has left is his wits, he’s capable of doing a lot more with those than I ever would have guessed, before I had seen the extent of his capabilities myself,” Gamora said solemnly. “And if what damage he did to Thanos’ fleet was as deliberate and thoroughly planned as it looked from where I oversaw that attempted invasion of this city?” She exhaled, low and long. “Then he can plan my onslaught against Thanos to save the universe any day... as long as we have something that he needs enough to force him to promise us some sort of protection from being considered expendable.” She shot Quill an assessing look, then. “You may need to offer your blood for the cause.”

The human’s lips thinned into an unimpressed line, which then tipped down at each corner after a moment, out of irritation, but then bled straight into resignation as he sighed, “Just... why? Why my blood?”

“He’s a mage, from a planet in the confederation of Yggdrasil. They usually need blood, if they’re operating without a lot of power of their own, in my experience,” she said, with an idle shrug. “Blood is a short-cut of sorts, in the hands of magic professionals, and it might give this exiled god data about your odd aura, and whether it might have some connection to the current Avatar of Life that we can exploit.”

“Magic. Right. Cool.”

“I need more of this pie,” Rocket said urgently. “Much more.”

“I am Groot,” the sentient tree concurred.

“Good, isn’t it?” Gamora mused.

He stared at her with a small, slightly sad growl.

“They didn’t have any more tonight, but they bake them in the mornings,” Quill said. “We walked out with the last whole pie in the shop, Rocket.”

“Perhaps we can return there early,” Gamora suggested, “And you can retrieve a few more pies and pastries while I await the end of whatever strange show Loki is performing in, these days.”

“How many more can you carry?” Rocket demanded. “I can rig up some storage containers you can camo-”

“Rocket, they only make a certain number per day,” Quill said gently. “It’d be rude to take way too many at once like that, I mean, unless I hit up multiple... bakeries...” He sounded increasingly fond of this idea. “I might need to steal a truck or something, but I could do that. We could freeze some of them for later, maybe?”

Frantic nodding form the not-raccoon and Drax ensued.

Gamora shook her head at them. “Just make sure you get plenty of that peach cobbler, too.”

Quill cackled. “Hell fucking yes!”

“Oh, one last thing, though, Rocket,” she added quickly. “Something you said about the readings you got when we were closest to that bastard today, right before he up and vanished on us, got me thinking... and I don’t like what it reminds me of.”

“So you noticed it looked a bit like Kree energy signatures too, eh?”

She frowned deeply. “Almost like the energy used by individual Kree instead of their technology, yes, except it was far too powerful. Unfortunately, Ronan had records of someone gone rogue not too many parsecs from here––someone considered of too inferior of a bloodline for the power he wielded, by Kree standards. He was too occupied in his own genocidal narrative to give it the time of day, at the time, but someone in the Cloud expected him to.”

“No Kree should be on this world,” Drax cut in. “Terra is protected from the Greater Magellanic Cloud by treaties with the confederacy of Yggdrasil.”

“What if he isn’t here for conquest then?” Quill suggested.

The others all shot him disbelieving looks. Even Groot.

“Well...” Quill frowned a little. “I mean, I know there are usually never any exceptions, except I sort of met one. I hitched a ride off-world with him after some armed humans nearly killed me, last time I was here.”

“Was he with their empire? The Cloud?” Drax asked.

“Yeah. He had a rank, even.”

Gamora and Drax exchanged looks, then looked at Rocket too, who only shrugged at both of them. Then all three looked back at Peter.

“How weird?” asked Gamora.

“Well, he had a human girl he wanted me to help get to safety before he’d agree to help me off the planet, but that’s kind of a long story.”

The others stared at him in a stony, judgmental manner.

Slowly, realization dawned. “Ohhh, you’re right, that does sound a bit Avatar of Life-y, doesn’t it? His name was Mar-Vell, I think.”

“I have killed a Vell before; she did not seem so exceptionally powerful as this one,” Gamora murmured thoughtfully. “You, Drax?”

“Two. They were not altogether remarkable either,” the Destroyer responded, “but they were of higher rank than most pink Kree are allowed to attain.”

“I was a little confused about Ronan being blue, actually,” Quill mused. He then realized the others were shooting him disbelieving looks again. “What? I’ve only met Ronan, that Mar-Vell guy, and several lovely lady Kree exiles in various shades of pink. What am I missing?”

“Ronan was a high-ranking blue Kree,” Gamora said slowly. “Those who are not blue of complexion and blood are the result of interbreeding with other humanoid races around the galaxy; this places them lower in imperial rank, and they are not so frequently gifted with unusual powers as some so-called ‘purer’ Kree are by the Cloud.”

Quill began scowling. “So that’s why you compared xenophobes here on Earth to Ronan. He just took the initiative to actually try and eradicate some ‘lesser race’, but back home they’re all about as crazy and full of racist superiority complexes?”

The others all nodded.

“Damn, this galaxy is depressing sometimes.”

“I am Groot.” With one branched hand he lightly patted Starlord’s shoulder. “I am–– _Groot_.”

Quill smiled at him. “You’re right, Groot. At least tomorrow there will be more pie.”

 

~~

 

Peter called, shortly before the both of them retired for the night, to inform the god of lies that his spider-tracers had been disabled once Gamora and her buddy had gotten to the warehouse district in Jersey, which at least confirmed their story, and that they kept their word.

Loki treaded very carefully through the surreal paths of dreaming within astral plane, that night. Approaching minds with shields in place, even for such an experienced Dream-Walker as himself, could be dangerous business; especially given that some of the shields in Gamora’s mind had been learned from teachers provided to her by Thanos.

It was a relief, then, to find her shields still in a stealth arrangement, rather than coated in nothing but warning signs and weaponry. Stealth, Loki could handle. It just took him a while longer to find a safe door to knock upon, which would not send this assassin straight back to full consciousness before he could even propose his own more secure form of communication than her idea of returning to the theater.

And so, he knocked.

 

~~

 

_Tap tap tap._

The nightmares washed back slowly like a tide, leaving Gamora’s own flesh melting off her bones along with the melting scenery for a few moments. She watched, detached and full of awe for a moment as her flesh ceased melting and instead became sand and a cloud of dust so fine that it choked her when she inhaled it too fast.

_TAP-TAP._

And suddenly her flesh wasn’t missing at all anymore. She was on the ship, and could sense the others aboard all sleeping, except Groot. She could hear the whispering and clicking of branches as the sentient tree-being very gently cleaned up the kitchen and dining area.

The door into the kitchen wasn’t the usual airtight ship-door. It was wooden, with a window halfway up it made of intricately cut glass, through which she could see a tall shadow with a familiar profile of long hair like a mane of raven-feathers.

The shadow reached a hand up and knocked again, gentler: _tap tap tap._

Slowly, Gamora stood up and opened the door. “Polite of you to knock.”

“Polite of you not to arm your defenses fully enough to allow me close enough.”

She shrugged. “You’re the only dream-walker in town I know.” She stepped back to let him in, and looked around a bit, frowning when she realized the scenery had changed and they were no longer aboard a ship. Instead, they seemed to be in a place with a large mirror, a couple of chairs, and a rack with costumes on it, and a couple of masks. “This is a room at your theater?”

Loki nodded, his leather and metal garb seamlessly shifting until it became an immaculate suit, though his coloring remained unchanged. He sat in one chair and gestured for Gamora to sit in the other. The mirror was on her right, and the room’s only door to her left.

After examining her face, he said, “It is good to see you well.” Then looked her over from head to toe in full before offering a wryly bitter smile. “In fact, you look far less miserable than I have ever seen you before.”

Looking around the dressing room a bit, then examining his face pointedly, she nodded. “You too.”

“You’re aware the Avatar of Life made another, very brief, visit to an area within New York City that is already saturated with his or her aura, I presume?” asked the god.

“Yes, and we may know who he is, but I would prefer to be wrong.”

“I’ve already ascertained that the Kree are involved, but if your concern is that it may be a Kree citizen, then you should know there is more than one human in the tri-state area with half-Kree physiology.”

“Yes, and one of them has a Captain Mar-Vell of the Kree to thank for it, does she not?” Gamora asked.

Loki’s expression turned very displeased at that, the fingertips of both his hands tracing shapes on the arms of his folding chair for a moment before abruptly stilling, gripping the arms tight. “I had hoped it would not be Danvers’ friend. I rather liked her, when we met, but nothing spoils good flyte opportunities like the hatred I do earn from murdering someone’s friend.”

“Do you know why he has been stationed here on Terra?”

The god shook his head. “My attempts to find out have been hindered by my weakened magic. Teleportation off of this planet requires draining too much energy; I would risk being trapped amongst the Kree, even if I found what data I may need.”

“Would a half-human whose mother was the previous Avatar help you at all?”

Loki’s face fell for a moment. “Is he hidden from Thanos?”

“I did not know his heritage until your daughter mentioned it, quite recently.”

“Then yes, I might be able to use that, but it would be best not to go after the Avatar directly until we have some idea of his state of mind. “The god suddenly looked a bit irritated. “Also, I did tell her not to worry about me, here.”

“She worries,” Gamora deadpanned, unsympathetic. “Probably because you are unstable, injured, and playing with fire. Yet again. I can’t say I blame her, given you’re already deputizing mortals.”

“ _Deput_ -” Loki sounded momentarily scandalized instinctively at the implication that Peter was hired help, then shot her a glare when he realized she’d legitimately caught him with that one.

She grinned at him. “So he’s not a minion, then?”

“No. As you say, I am unstable and damaged. To each their own medicine. Accordingly, why don’t you tell me more about the charming people you’re _newly_ allied with?”

It was the assassin’s turn to wear a stony and unhappy expression for a few moments, instinctively defensive. Inhaling slowly through her nose and exhaling it in a fondly exasperated sigh, she explained, “They’re all complete and utter fools, but they are more competent than they look and... terrible liars, by my standards.” Her eyes narrowed. “There are many like them, but these particular fools are mine.”

“I feel the same about a couple of humans these days too. Terribly contagious hearts on these creatures, but it’s refreshing to find us on equal footing this time,” Loki mused. “It’s a good change.”

“I could not have freed you.”

“You could, but both of our survival chances would have been so slim that I would never have forgiven you regardless. Out of all those I met while processed into his ranks, I have no hard feelings towards _you_ , Gamora. Nebula, however...”

“Is fleeing from the debacle of Ronan’s destruction these days, if that may make you feel better,” the assassin added, but her voice was slightly too brittle.

Loki read something in her expression that she could not mask in time, and she knew it, and glared at him accordingly. “It is always worse, is it not, when they refuse to allow themselves to be saved?”

“Did you ever fail?”

“It’s best not to ask what happened to cousin Baldr.”

“Fair enough,” Gamora mused, mentally reeling a bit at that. There had been rumors, of course, about that missing Asgardian over the years, mostly about whether or not he had actually been Odin’s illegitimate son or not, and the suspicious nature of the circumstances under which he vanished. It spoke volumes about the gallows-god’s shrewdness that none of those rumors had implicated either of his sons in that slightly older Aesir warrior’s disappearance.

“What brought you into such a motley company, if I may ask?”

“Chance, and an infinity stone that Quill managed to steal. With his aid and... leadership––if one can call it ‘leadership’––all of us turned the stone against Ronan when he tried to destroy a world with it. Apparently, we’re now called the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Loki blinked several times in rapid succession. “That was _you_?”

She nodded, smirking a little.

“I’m very impressed.”

“You’re not doing too badly, for having escaped Asgard again. Leftover mind-control shrapnel?”

He grimaced. “Yes.” Then his brow furrowed. “You remained free of it, I hope?”

“Yes. I was meant to be more objective, to better manage and balance-out some of my more unstable ‘siblings’ in his ranks.”

Loki’s expression became pure commiseration for a moment, before he asked, “Could I perhaps hitch a ride into dangerous Kree territory with the Guardians of the Galaxy, do you think?”

Slowly, Gamora began to smile. “You know, I never disliked you, either.”

“I look forward to working with you, too.”

“I will need your word, then, to protect me and mine.”

The god nodded sagely. “I swear on my life that I am enemy to Thanos, enemy to the cancer-verse, and will not sacrifice yourself nor any of your fellow Guardians of the Galaxy so long as we are allied together in order to fight those enemies.”

“That easy?” Gamora asked, almost hesitantly.

“I really need that transport. Do we have an accord?” He extended a hand.

She took hold of his forearm, and she hers, and they squeezed for a moment, then released. “We do,” she said. “Now where are we taking you?”

Loki’s grin widened quite frighteningly, at that.

 

~~

 

In retrospect, the god would suppose he should have expected it. The meeting with Gamora had gone so well.

So of course, by the time he had walked back from her dreams to his own, something had shaken loose of its chains in his absence. And helplessly it dragged Loki straight down i n t o  i  t  s    s   c   r   e   a   m   i   n   g     **_v     o     i     d_**.

 

_Then he was being dragged before Thanos again––all memory dialed back to when he had still been freshly cracked and scorched of brain by his great long fall. Loki stared into the mad Titan’s pale eyes and began laugh. It started off small, like the tinkling of falling glass shards, but quickly built up and up from there into raucous hysteria._

_He knelt where they had flung him down before Thanos’ throne, with his hands bound behind his back, laughing so hard that his whole body shook and rocked with it, the glimmer of mirthful tears visible at the corners of his eyes. The blurriness was almost a comfort in and of itself. He had seen horrors that would never leave him, and could feel how thin the walls were between himself and those things, in this place Thanos had chosen for the central hub of his Sanctuary. Now, looking up at Thanos, it all seemed painfully_ funny.

_The guards on either side of him were deeply disconcerted, as were the half-dozen others about the mad Titan, amongst them the leader of the Chitauri, and leaders of other factions of Thanos’ forces._

_Only Thanos himself remained unperturbed and unruffled. “Why do you laugh, little Aesir?”_

_Loki choked and laughed all the harder for a moment, then trailed off, still sniggering and grinning crookedly, his eyes wide and fever-bright. “Because I know you. I saw your ‘statue’ a long time ago, when I was a child.” He giggled again as Thanos’ expression darkened._

_He knew to what the trickster alluded. After the first Infinity Gauntlet incident, long ago, the Warlock who had defeated him turned the mad Titan to stone and hurled him to a place even more distant from that war-zone than the one his court and his armies currently occupied: so that he would be stopped with the permanency of death, without giving him the satisfaction of being united with his love. “This amuses you?” His voice was very low, and very dangerous._

_“No, no, it’s hardly that,” Loki panted, waving off the suggestion as though it were smoke. He sniggered a little more. “It means that I know you are Thanos, and you are awake and looking_ quite _lively with, I may say,_ quite _a collection of near-dead militant forces.” Again, his laughter took over, high and hysterical and irreparably broken. “And I, am a son of Odin, banished unjustly, a deposed king.” He stifled another bout of giggles, but only just. By then, tears of laughter had left streaks from the corners of his eyes to the line of his jaw, and they glittered with salinity. “And because I’m the son of Odin who is a student of history, this means that I know precisely what you want, and need, for whatever it may be that you next have planned.” He snorted one last time in amusement, sighed with a ridiculously good-humored hum to it, and blinked rapidly, wishing he could wipe at his eyes. “It’s quite perfect, actually.” One last snigger escaped him after that._

_Thanos arched a brow at him. “Odin. I recall the name.”_

_“He has quite a collection of interesting little toys,” Loki said airily. “Including your old glove, though the gems in it are mostly scattered, mere colorful rocks acting as placeholders for what truly belongs there.” Staring up at a violent, brilliant, incredibly powerful being with so many plans within plans, stratagems within stratagems and such lofty goals, Loki saw a distorted reflection of what sort of thing he had turned into after that little identity-slippage around Jotunnheim, but he was recalling himself now, slowly, given this contrast to work against, and the opportunities he saw as open to a liar like himself. Myself––Loki, now remembered_. _Because this position was a familiar one, and was bringing it all back piece by piece. “But he did also lose track of an infinity stone some time ago.”_

_Thanos was staring, and thinking._

_Loki’s smile was bright and shiny as broken glass._

_In all stories of powerfully gifted mages who break, in the way that Loki broke, there were only two endings: madness overtaking them and destroying their minds, or something wholesome like love, warm-heartedness, protectiveness or the like bringing them back to themselves. Loki, by then, felt none of the latter, and the former was slowly getting easier to combat as he stared Thanos down like this._ I am Loki of Asgard, giant’s-kin and giant-killer; traitor and broken fool. _That latter part was unfamiliar, and stung, but it was paired with,_ I have nothing to me save a bit of power, trickery up my sleeves and in my heart, and my own wits _, which was at that time more familiar-feeling to him than the backs of his own hands or the sensation of breathing unhindered._ This is where I have always shone brightest: right here. No hand to play, no weapons but my own self, against a monster who could kill me or break me open with scarcely any effort. All I have are words; what more do I need?

_He had stood in a similar way before Laufey, knowing the giant to be his father, while planning that king’s death, and smiling. He had stood that way before less frosty Jotunns, too; before the whole court of Svartalfheim a year before their catastrophic destruction; before Karnilla, Queen of the Norns; before the oldest and most dangerous old members of the Unseelie court in Alfheim; and all those scenes were like reflections of this one, wherein he knelt before a mad Titan, a failed demi-god, with a penchant for seizing control of near-infinite powers, only for them to slip somehow from his fingers._

_“I will hear you,” Thanos said._

_And Loki’s smile widened impossibly further. No warmth, no love to pull the pieces of himself back together, not here; bleak and vicious pride, however, he had in spades, and so practiced was it, such an integral part of what had always held him together in the face of those who would have killed (literally) to wipe the smile off of his face, that it gave back to him what he most needed: force of will. He found a suitable new anchor, in that, and with it his head began to clear._

_Pieces of broken armor and composure snapped back into place quickly enough to damage their edges, so the fit was not what it once was, and madness did keep seeping back in through the gaps, but Loki silently hummed with satisfaction now, and his voice regained its cool, polished manner: no more mad laughter or half-cracked syllables. “Along with that certain Warlock, Odin was the one who constructed the cosmic cubes used to bring you down, gauntlet or no. All were broken, save the first of them, which was used to contain one of the infinity stones. Then, it was lost.” With a flick of the wrists, requiring no magic, only skill, Loki appeared to shrug effortlessly from the bonds at his wrists, and let them drop to the floor. He rubbed at the raw skin where the cuffs had been, not looking away from Thanos’ gaze. “I know where it is. I know how to access its power. And I know how to get it. So tell me, Thanos, what you might offer me in exchange for the Space stone?”_

_“Aside from your life?”_

_“Do I look as though that currently holds much value to me?” Loki countered, his voice cold and mocking, as he held out both hands, with palms up. “Being sent into the care of your lady-love, at this point, would be like going forth into a garden after a long illness, for me.” It was truer than he would like. The prospect of imminent death was as unreal and hilarious as everything else, just now. How could he fear Death? Death was as nothing compared to losing himself while still living, he now knew._

_Then for a moment, he caught a glimpse of her over Thanos’ right shoulder: a shadow-like robe, with a pale and lovely face peering from beneath the cowl with eyes black as the depths of void Loki had so recently visited. The face became a skull, then she vanished altogether, as her fingers trailed up along Thanos’ cheek._

_To judge by the way the Mad Titan’s eyes fell shut, and the sudden breathless silence of everyone else in the room, her brief visit was––well, if not actually real, than at least a shared hallucination rather than solely Loki’s own._

_“I do know of the Tesseract,” Thanos said, low and thoughtful. He stood, and walked down the three tall steps that led up to his throne, so that he stood before Loki. There was a strange glow in his eyes––stranger than it should have been._

_The walls are thin here, Loki thought, and shuddered, his skin suddenly prickling with discomfort as Thanos drew closer. “I had presumed as much.”_

_“I have stared into it before, at great length,” Thanos said. “Have you laid eyes upon it, son of Odin?”_

_“I have.”_

_“Then you will be familiar with the likes of this.” He touched Loki’s left temple._

_And everything began to burn. Loki snarled and jerked back, but the fire remained. It burned like any perception-altering spell would have: bright and blinding, then seeming to fade as it became more insidious, until the victim was unable to tell where their thoughts ended and the spell began. Loki fought it as such, but it was not magic, and it tested his freshly-rebuilt force of will to its breaking point. And unlike a spell, it didn’t_ fade _. It only_ waited _for him to exhaust his energies, and kept pushing with the same amount of force._

 _Loki bowed his head to hide the expression of agony on his face as he tried to hold it back._ Let me show you let me show you let me show you! _the fires hissed._

_“Don’t fight it, little god. You’re of no use to me if we are not afflicted with the same vision, and the same goals,” Thanos snapped._

_The god of lies snarled, and held his ground, and then made a show of appearing to slowly collapse under the weight of something heavy until his head rested nearly on his knees. One hand fell, braced on the ground, fingers jerking with intermittent tremors._

_If they had not been expecting to see him break, they might have noticed his fingers tracing small, deliberate shapes against the floor, or that his lips were moving, shaping a rapid-fire litany of whispers scarcely louder than breath: spell-casting._ I am Loki Lie-smith _, he thought fiercely._ I am Loki the liar, Loki the trickster, Loki the god of chaos and mischief. I am ruled by no one, and I will not be broken **again**. _He finished the spell, and it buzzed through his mind battening down hatches, closing off doors, locking up the most vital parts of himself that kept him_ himself, _and left behind the rest: the spite, the self-loathing and the irrational desire to cause pain to those he loved so that they would suffer a little of what_ he _had when he was so enlightened about the lie that was the life of Loki Odinson, before he knew himself to be Jotunn. He would let these creatures think they could still use such things against him, at least for now._

 _He took the lies he had already woven––banished unjustly, a deposed king_ –– _and gave them more life, enough that he could lose sight of the truth entirely when he rested behind them. It was a liar’s palace: a false self he could detach most of his awareness from. It sacrificed control to preservation, but not completely––just more than was ever comfortable._

_Only then, with the locked-away parts of his mind warded against the flames, mostly cut off from the bare bones of what he would need for his plans, did Loki allow his first layers of armor to be cracked open again._

Cold fire, like staring into infinite possibilities and finding every one of them within reach. _He saw further vague and more twisted visions:_ Thor and the warriors three in chains, Midgard’s largest cities burning to the ground, and no death, no illness––wait–– _Loki sat up with a sharp gasp. It was done._

_Then, inexplicably, he felt cool fingers on his brow: felt, though he could see no one standing close enough to touch him save Thanos, who now had his hands folded behind his back. The fingers then became bone and Loki felt a marrow-deep chill just before the sensation disappeared._

_“You are well, little god?”_

_Loki’s awareness returned to himself sharply, with eerie clarity, as often lingers with one’s memories freshly-distorted. He looked hard at Thanos, seeing in double-vision briefly: false-self, and true-self._ The Avatar of Death. Yet your little fires show a world without death, to me at least; I wonder how many of these others believe that you might achieve that, and that it wouldn’t be miserable. _It was like seeing through a haze, in a way: there was the overlay of the distortion, the way it tugged at his thoughts, and there was a deeper, quieter part, where the most heavily fire-proofed parts of Loki Lie-smith occasionally reached out––quickly, surreptitiously, so as not to get caught in those webs and fires––to shift Thanos’ plans just_ so _off their tracks._

_Slowly, as his true self retreated and his false one rose to the fore, Loki smiled as though the inside of his mind did not resemble the still-lightly-smoldering aftermath of a house-fire. “Never better,” he said, low and almost respectful, though his voice still remained pure trickster, too._

_“Were you such an Aesir as was thought a god by some?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And what god are you?”_

_“I am Loki,” he said. “I am the god of mischief, chaos, and lies. At your service.”_

 

And then he awoke with a muffled scream.

~~

 

Two days after the incident involving an actor called Tom Locke under a stairway, Tony was relieved to spot someone suitably distracting. It wasn’t because she was gorgeous––well, not _entirely_ because she was gorgeous. That had been a good part of what first drew his attention to her, but it was probably when she took down one of Spider-man’s more notorious arch-nemeses with one swift elbow to the throat that she had really gotten him hooked.

So now here she was, at a charity ball he wasn’t even the one throwing this time, in a long black dress all embroidered with serpentine green and gold dragons winding their way around her. Lucky dragons, they must be––if only because Tony so envied their positions. Lucky, lucky bastards.

“Hello, mystery lady.”

She looked not in the least bit surprised to see him. “Hello. I believe you owe me a drink, Tony.”

“I do? I don’t recall that part.”

She smiled, small and sly. “Clearly not.”

“Oh, so it’s from the mysterious era during which I learned your name before.”

“You actually know at least two of my names now, but I doubt you’d ever guess either of them.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You’re giving me hints a little more freely this time.”

“Maybe I’m more interested.” Her voice was low, smoky, and curious, as she held his gaze with those impossibly green eyes.

Quite disconcertingly, Tony found himself recalling a similar voice, close to his skin, _Tell me who you want to have you like this_. And then he thought, _Oh god, I think I might’ve gone and done it twice._ “Maybe it’s best if I’m not.”

“Someone else caught your eye? A young model? An actress?”

“Actor. He made me think. And what I think is that I have a problem.”

“Not yet, I don’t think,” she mused. “I can fix that.”

“I’m sure you can, Trouble.”

“Is that a new nickname for me?”

“I’m half-convinced it might just be your real one. I’ve met plenty of Trouble in my life,” Tony countered.

“But only a little of me, so far.”

“Very true. And I’m sure there’s a lot more to get to know.” He looked her up and down, weighing his chances, and decided that he had a long history of embracing bad ideas; there was certainly no reason to stop now. “Dance with me.”

She looked surprised, but rose easily enough to her feet and took his proffered hand. “May I ask why?” The lady was his height, in low heels, putting them directly eye to eye as they moved out onto the dance floor.

“I need a reason?”

She smiled a little, and let him shrug it off as he pulled her in closer.

The song happened to change to something a bit slower and more mellow. It was a perfectly legitimate move. To distract himself from that line of thought, Tony mused, “You aren’t a spy, you aren’t an assassin, and I can tell you’re easily bored.” He shot her a knowing look when she glanced away a bit coyly, at that. “I thought so. Why are you really here, then?”

“Have I baffled you?”

“Yeah. It seems to be a common theme lately.”

“So not only am I not the first, I’m not the first this week? Scandalous, for a genius like yourself to admit, I would think.”

“All three phenomena are anomalies, but I’m an Avenger, so anomalies are the new normal for me.”

“That does seem rather inescapable for you. Were they business rather than leasure?”

“Well the first is an imported super-villain, so in his case you could say that, but the actor certainly wasn’t.”

“How does one import a super-villain?”

“He’s not from Earth.”

The lady looked only a little surprised. “And he’s baffled you?”

“A little. I should’ve noticed a long time ago that the portal hadn’t opened even half so far as it could have,” Tony murmured as her paused to spin her, and pull her back in close. “Among other things.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, her expression masked.

“And so the tables have turned. Not so fun, is it?”

“It’s interesting.” She shrugged, letting her teeth drag over her lower lip. “You mentioned an actor who caught your eye, and myself, and this villain. Are you attracted to him too, I wonder?”

Tony didn’t wince, but it was a near thing. “You think I have a thing for a super-villain?”

“I’m asking why he’s of interest to you. Maybe I’m in the market for a villain. For all that you may know, I might even be in the market for some particularly large-scale evil deeds,” she teased.

The inventor snorted. “I don’t think he’s working freelance unless you offer him a world to take over, preferably one that will piss off his family.”

“That’s a pretty steep starting price, admittedly.”

“You know, you dance like you’re used to leading instead of following.”

She smirked and changed her stance and hold in one smooth motion, and spun him, then reeled him in and bent him back with seemingly no effort. “I am.”

Tony made a small sound indicative of unexpected arousal.

Pulling him upright again, the lady settled back into position as before, and they continued dancing as though nothing had happened. “I enjoy being able to surprise you, Mr. Stark.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“It’s only fair,” she murmured. “You surprise me as well.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. “You hide it well if I’ve still done that tonight.”

“You have. I’m curious about the actor you mentioned. What problem is it that you think you have?”

“Oh, just the usual: I like bad ideas. That might be why I’m dancing with you.”

“And you consider that a bad idea?”

“It’s just occurred to me that you remind me of someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. And it’s not a healthy fixation.”

“You’re fixated?”

“I haven’t been, but it’s getting disconcertingly close to being a fixation. Most likely because I’ve been trying to get in his head lately, which is both tricky, and possibly might drive me insane.”

“Whose head is this?”

“The villain.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s admittedly attractive, yes.”

She smiled a little. “I like the sound of him already.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you might be related to him, but his only family is––well, you’re not related to him.”

“Maybe I’m not from Earth either, Mr. Stark.”

 _Why is that suggestion not even surprising? Or disconcerting? Shouldn’t it be disconcerting?_ “It’s not just that. Even his off-earth relatives––” he hesitated. “Oh please tell me you’re not actually from a place called Helheim. I may have to shoot myself.”

She giggled. “No, not at all. No matter what anyone may tell you, I’m not from the underworld, or the afterlife.”

“People accuse you often of both, or either?”

“Oh yes. Some even mistake me for the Devil.”

“Where _are_ you from?”

“Not around here.”

“Now this is just getting repetitive.”

“It was a repeat question.”

“You know, I think you’re actually in a good mood this evening.”

“Well, this party hasn’t yet been crashed by anyone with eight limbs.”

“You enjoyed that, though.”

“Perhaps.”

“You did. And you know, you never did answer the question of ‘why are you here?’ either.”

“Because I thought it was obvious. Or did you mean to ask why I’m in New York at all?”

“I’ll take what I can get. Why are you in New York?”

“I’m hunting for someone... also ‘imported’ you might say. At least, I begin to suspect that’s why it’s proving so difficult to track them.”

“How vague.”

“Your mind is already awhirl, though.”

“Of course it is. I’m a genius. What sort of import?”

“I don’t know yet. Someone who has been on Earth for many years, but I have new reason to suspect that he regularly returns home, particularly of recent, using technology which cloaks him from me, and also your Avengers and the remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D., too.” She snorted. “I have only just learned which home that may be.”

Tony’s eyes looked suddenly bright and sharp. “That sounds ominous.”

“So does a super-villain who baffles Tony Stark.”

The inventor offered a small self-deprecating smile. “Well. If you started a war with the intention to lose, and happened to be pretty much a genius, why would you let yourself be caught in the end?”

She held his gaze steadily for a long few moments, her expression masked. “Perhaps there wasn’t really a choice.”

“Escape was another choice.”

“Maybe the fate he would have faced by escaping would have been worse even than the torture. That’s hardly uncommon for any failed war-leader.”

“I’m not sure I can think of much worse ways to spend some months having my mouth sewn shut, after being caught a _second_ time,” he muttered, and felt his mystery lady stiffen for a moment. “Are you-”

She looked away for a moment.

Tony waited, hoping he hadn’t said something to jagged and callous again.

“It’s fine. I’ve just led an interesting life, let’s say. Also I... apparently, I’ve known the villain you speak of, and of his recent escape.” She sounded amused, wry, and sad.

Tony stayed quiet.

After a few moments, and another spin, and dip, as he drew her back up she asked, “When you yourself went through a few months of similar experience, in a particular sort of pit of your own making, did you not emerge from it with a clearer head, and a clearer idea of who you were and what needed to be done?”

“I won’t credit those bastards for that.”

“I would hardly respect you if you did.” Her smile was cold and brittle for just a moment. “Nevertheless, it helps, does it not, to think one has gotten a taste of what one feels deserving of, upon waking from ignorance and into horrified realization.”

Tony considered. “No one does that sort of thing deliberately.”

The lady smiled thinly. “They do if they’re aware that their perception of reality is distorted, and know of no one outside––certain trusted entities, who might have the ability to help them shake free of it.” She shifted closer, slowing their steps, feeling his embrace adjust to accommodate her, keeping her close. “Partial reality distortion can be more insidious than overt mind control; it leaves genius intact, while guiding a person’s behavior and influencing their decision-making.”

“If the big bad guy he cut a deal with managed that, it still doesn’t explain why he would have sabotaged the war and let himself be caught both, the first time.”

“Depends on how accustomed he is to fighting off such things. If he has dealt with threats of that sort before, or used them on others, then he might possess enough knowledge and skill to keep a part of himself separate from the distortion. It’s not an easy feat, but some do achieve it. I have seen it.”

“Have you?”

She shot him a more unmasked look than before: harrowed, a little world-weary, but sharp and cold as well. Her green eyes, however, remained quite sharply focused and still held his gaze unwaveringly. “I have, Mr. Stark. And I’m lucky to have survived the experience with all limbs intact.”

Tony nodded, not able to muster pity or sympathy, which he doubted she would care for anyway; however, he could offer respect, and acknowledgement. “So. Torture can be grounding, then? For mages?”

“If it’s the only option, particularly if the means used to distort reality involved psychic influence, or telepathy-related magics. There are other ways, but those can be still more dangerous for other people involved in the process, given how easily the distortion might spread to other minds, like corrupted programming.”

“Tricky,” Tony murmured.

“Life usually is. The only means to cope, I’ve found, is to be even trickier.”

“You do it well.”

“Thank you.”

They danced to two more songs without speaking, each apparently lost in their own thoughts. Tony couldn’t help but wonder who this mad woman was, and why she might possibly be here, but was suddenly hesitant to ask again. If she told him, this might become something far deeper than the light-hearted game they had started out playing, and the thought unnerved him. He didn’t want to hear that she was someone he’d have to go to war against.

“Why do I get the feeling,” Tony murmured, “that I might not see you again?”

“I’m going to war. Clearly,” she said. “You might see me after.”

“Is this, here, just a diversion from that war?”

“You could say that.”

“If I did, would it be true?”

She laughed a little, low and oddly sincere. “It started as such.”

“We’ve only met twice.”

“Is that so?”

Tony considered. “You’re leaving me to puzzle this out, aren’t you?”

“Telling you now would be too early,” she said. “It’s best you work it out by learning what’s missing between when we met the first time, and how we’ve reached this point. You wouldn’t believe me otherwise, in any case.”

“Well, you’re such a lovely liar, after all.”

“And so are you,” she said. When the next song ended, she gently halted them. “You’re only a little more straight-forward with people than I usually bother with.”

“I have to be.”

“Doesn’t that get dull?”

“It has its consolations.”

She considered. “Hmm.”

“You didn’t think it did?”

“I hadn’t considered previously that they might be worth it.” She shrugged, her expression turning slightly puzzled. “Mayhap I’ll test it someday.”

“Not today.”

“No. What I like about you, Tony, is that you don’t need me to be any less crooked and sly than I naturally am; it’s very refreshing,” she murmured, and kissed him lightly, not-quite-chastely. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Tony repeated, and reluctantly let her go, watching her vanish first into the crowd, then seemingly into thin air. _Damn, I have got_ so _many problems_ , he thought, and winced slightly.

 

~~

 

Becoming an intern in the R&D department of Stark Industries had been a trickier thing to arrange than Tony had hinted. The Research and Development department was organized entirely by Tony Stark, and it showed, in that only Tony seemed to know where everything was, what projects were in motion, and where all the employment paperwork was squirreled away. They didn’t have interns of their own, generally speaking; they just borrowed the occasional promising ones from here and there in other departments, usually just to help with heavy lifting or processing data.

It thus took over a week just to work out all of the kinks before Peter Parker could read the documents––all so carefully worded to cover all things Spider-man-related that Peter suspected Stark Industries’s whole legal team must be aware of his secret and strangely willing to help. At least, he did until all was signed, copied, and the main copies filed away, and finally Tony picked up the contract to flip back through it and made a face. “I remember writing this, but I don’t remember some of these clauses.”

“Too late to edit, Tony,” Pepper chided.

“You proofread and edited?” Tony asked.

“No, actually.”

“Then who-”

“Hey. Boss-” he began, adding “-es,” when they both turned to look at him. “Where do I start?” He couldn’t help the stupidly wide grin on his face.

Pepper smiled warmly, and Tony’s mouth quirked somewhere between being suspicious and being amused.

When Tony led him into the private elevator, and the doors shut, the inventor immediately asked, “So, the web-shooters have white-out and typeface settings?”

“That would be pretty useless, actually.”

“Yeah. Textured paper: not so good.”

“Plus, the webbing is designed to break down entirely in about an hour.”

“Good idea.” He shot Peter a look. “So the edits weren’t you?”

“Not really. I’m a good liar, but I’m no good at legalese.”

“Fair enough.”

 _Ping_.

The elevator doors opened.

Tony flashed a grin at him. “Welcome to candy-land.”

Peter stared wide-eyed at the massive lab, and all of the equipment. “You have... is that really a particle-collider?” he said, slightly breathless. “It looks like you miniaturized CERN.”

“Yep. Now, on with the tour. Also, rules. For instance: no open-toed shoes, ever. Just trust me on this.”

“That goes for most lab settings, and I don’t really own any sandals as a result. Any other rules?”

“No super-villains allowed.”

Peter snorted. “Seriously?”

“Fine, first serious rule: be less serious, particularly on your first day when I plan to blow your mind with large shiny feats of engineering that the term ‘badass’ barely begins to cover,” Tony shot back.

“Sir yes sir.”

“Don’t call me ‘sir’, kid.”

“Fine. I’ll have to come up with more creative appellations.”

“Rule two, limit the creativity of your creative appellations applied to boss-figures when others are present.”

“I sense you’ve gotten in trouble for that a few times.”

“I’m sharing words of wisdom.”

“More like words of wise-guys.”

“Singular. These are all mine, thanks.”

“Words of wise-cracking wise-guy wisdom?”

Tony stared at him for a moment. “Come on, let’s just go blow something up before your jokes get lamer.”

“Ouch. Rude!”

And they did.

After the initial bout of Tony Stark showing off his toys, they settled in for some serious work: projects in place in clean energy, research on a few dozen recent villain/alien acquisitions, et cetera. Peter was introduced to them, and given a rapid-fire schedule for working them, organizing results, and cataloging anything useful.

Then they proceeded to a large, sturdy-looking and mostly empty chamber.

“So. The webbing.” Tony grinned.

 _So glad about that legalese, you have no idea,_ Peter mused silently as he rolled up his sleeves and pulled the web-shooters from his bag, holding one up. “Don’t put too much pressure on these bits unless you want it in your face,” he pointed to indicate, then handed it to Tony.”

“Noted. These are sleek. Tell me about the triggering system, here.”

Peter donned the other one and settled in for his own bout of showing off. “It’s pretty simple, actually.”

 

~~

 

After day one of the both of them showing off and bickering pretty constantly in a good-natured fashion, Peter was feeling good about day two, until he returned to the main R&D floor to find Tony Stark talking to a tall, blond, and familiar thunder god.

Peter hesitated momentarily, then strolled over with intent to vanish behind a pile of potentially hazardous items nicked from villains during battle, or found off-Earth, but then the conversation caught his attention.

Tony was, after all, saying: “Look, all I’m saying is that I think there might be more than just the Thanos-and-Chitauri thing going on. It doesn’t add up otherwise. He could hide anywhere. He could super-easily hide in his daughter’s kingdom, since even _you_ admitted that no one would dare risk war trying to extradite him, and she’s still on good terms with him. I thought, and still think, that he’s taking advantage of the Avengers being so protective of the civilian population, yeah, but you keep talking like they’re going to assassinate him, so why is he here? If he’s expecting all-out war, he’s in a fine place, but if he wants to just avoid a sudden knife to the throat from some unsuspecting corner, New York _fucking_ City isn’t the place to be. Tell me I’m wrong.” He paused, allowing the thunder god ample opportunity to open his mouth to speak, and then close it again. Tony nodded sagely. “See? You can’t.”

“How do you propose that you find out what he is truly after, Tony Stark? I cannot find him. Our friend Dr. Strange cannot find him, due to Loki’s talent for magical self-concealment. And he is a shape-shifter as well, so even if you borrowed S.H.I.E.L.D.’s camera-related tricks-”

“Wait, back up a minute, I knew he was a damn good illusionist, but you’re telling me he can actually shape-shift? What the fuckin’––how is that even fair?” Tony groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “This would’ve been helpful to know earlier. He could be working for Stark Industries even now if that’s the case.”

Peter managed not to snort derisively at that, but it was a near thing.

“I do not think that he would have the patience?” Thor tried to sound reassuring.

The inventor wasn’t reassured. In fact, a completely different line of thought seemed to cross Tony’s mind, causing him to look sharply away from Thor and back at the large touch-screen display they stood in front of. “I maintain it would’ve been good to know that earlier,” he said, very gravely. “There are a lot of ways he could, ah, mess with the Avengers that way.”

“To be fair, it was a big part of the myths with him,” Peter added. He resisted the urge to smirk and wince simultaneously at the way he could see the cogs turning in Tony’s head as he thought of possible uses Loki might put shape-shifting to.

Thor turned sharply to glare at him, startled that he hadn’t heard the younger man’s approach, but Tony only shot him a glance and a smirk. “Thor, this is Peter Parker, my new intern. Peter, I think you know Thor.”

Peter held the thunder god’s gaze. “We’ve met, yeah.”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “I have never seen your face before.”

“Precisely.” Peter flashed him a grin.

“Kid, don’t go baiting Norse gods.”

 _You should talk_ , Pete very nearly said. He had to bite his own tongue to restrain the urge, however. He let it go after a moment. “I’ve also met your brother, Thor. I got between the both of you having a bit of an argument.”

“Wait, what?” Tony muttered. “He was actually involved?”

Knowledge flashed across Thor’s expression. “You are the Spider-man?”

Peter cringed slightly, “Yeah. It’s a bit of a secret. Hence the mask, that’s kind of important, so your oath not to tell anybody about that would be appreciated.”

“Understood. I swear upon my life that I will reveal your identity to no one.” Thor turned to face Peter squarely. “Do you know where my brother currently resides?”

“Nope. I’m not sure he even sleeps. I think he just wanders around a bit creepily.”

“Do you know how we might find him?” Thor asked.

“Jeez, Thor, it’s like you think they’re buddies or something.”

Peter did not like where this conversation was going. Not at all. “I don’t know any more than you two do, really,” he lied with casual ease. He ignored the way Thor’s expression turned suddenly shrewd.

“I think you are being less than sincere again, little Spider.”

 _Oh no. Oh NO he grew up with Loki and he_ learned _from Loki. Mayday, Mayday_ , Peter thought helplessly.

“I’m missing something. Back up a second. So you met Loki the one time near Central Park, then Thor stormed off to interrogate you, and behold a wild Loki appeared? What is he doing, playing guardian angel or something?”

“You should read more of the myths as the Spider has,” Thor suggested.

“I keep finding stories about your brother and a horse, and you in a dress. You sure you want to encourage this? I’ve already read a bunch of the-” He stopped. “ _Oh._ Oh, that’s––unexpected. So the Lokka Táttur one was true-ish?”

Thor nodded.

“You!” Tony pointed sharply at the younger man. “Start talking. The truth has outed, the closet door is open-”

“That’s funny coming from you-” Peter started.

“-and _you_ know about _Loki_.”

The younger man fidgeted. “A bit. Yeah, okay, I do, but only a bit. You already worked out he’s sort of my patron god, though, and I’m inclined to keep his secrets as well as he’s kept mine. You should keep that in mind.”

“That’s––not fair.” The inventor looked quite put-out.

“Trickster god,” Peter reminded.

“Okay, I already worked out that Loki deliberately lost his little war with us to keep the tesseract away from Thanos et all, fuck with Thor, and satisfy his craving for a bit of rampant destruction, which I get, I really do. But he’s in New York, and that means he’s not waiting to be assassinated, he’s waiting for a war to show up.”

Peter raised a hand, forefinger and thumb close together. “Close. You’re close there, but war isn’t what he’s waiting on. Or looking for. Not quite.”

“You know what my missing variables are,” Tony accused, eyes narrowing.

“I know a lot of things, most of which make me uncomfortable,” Peter said, his voice heavy with irony. “But if he’s not involving the Avengers-”

“On a scale of one to forty-two, with one being a few unpleasant people, and forty-two being life, the universe, and everything,” Tony asked calmly, “What level of destruction has potential to occur here?”

Peter’s lips twitched as he thought about cancerous universes. “Okay. Fair enough, it’s pretty much at forty-two.”

Thor looked disconcerted by that. “Thanos does not-”

Peter waved him off. “Tony’s right, it’s more than just him.”

A long pause followed.

“Look, it’s not going to sound very believable even if I tried to explain it, because I’m not exactly an expert on the big blurry grey area between science and magic with him, but I––trust him.” He sounded perplexed even as he said it, then made a face. “Wow, that’s actually true. I must be insane.”

“You have my brother as your patron god,” Thor interjected. “Insanity goes practically without saying.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Peter muttered, and glanced around a bit, half-expecting to see a flicker of green and gold on some nearby reflective surface. This was reaching the point where a sudden appearance by the god of mischief would be sufficiently jarring for everyone in the room, but apparently he was on his own for this one. Then again, he was dealing with Thor and Tony Stark both. _The brother he dislikes and the former enemy he seems to enjoy flirting with, but only while in disguise; y’know, I wouldn’t show up for that either._

“He’s killed in cold blood you know,” Tony said flatly. “He killed a friend of mine with a spear through the chest.”

Peter looked conflicted. “I––know a lot of things. And I’m not saying he’s any saner than you or me, which even that would be damning with faint praise in the sanity department, and I’m not saying you should have any real sympathy or that he’s at all redeemed or anything. He’s–––he’s Loki. He’s a force of nature, and he’s mercurial, and he’s brilliant, and he’s out of his mind––but he’s also done right by me and mine, and seems to want to protect the people around him. Yeah, I’m a bit soft-hearted about that, and totally biased; I’ve made my own share of mistakes that were lethal for other people, a few times just out of stupid pride, and so I... understand that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then realized he’d never used the gesture before he’d met Loki and quickly stopped. “So he’s not a good guy, and I am. He’s more messed up and amoral than I could ever hope to achieve in a mere mortal life-span being the good-guy I try to believe that I am most days, but he’s not evil. I know evil. He’s just––really _chaotic_ chaotic-neutral. And in any case, a lot of the recent crazy seems to be from a major magecraft-related issue that involved ‘knowing thyself’ sort of breaking.”

Thor made a sound, his look suddenly one of pure concern again, along with something rather closer to panic and rage. “You said he was _well!_ ”

“He is! He is. Now. Mostly.” Peter folded his arms over his chest. “He’s––doing really pretty well. He seems a lot more comfortable in his own skin than he did when I first met him, even.”

“But you won’t tell us maybe where we could find him?” Tony asked, very lightly.

“He’s done right by me,” Peter said. “He could unravel my entire life like a ball of yarn: he knows who I am, he knows who the woman I love is, and he knows I’m Spider-man. And he hasn’t unraveled anything. He decided I’m an interesting enough liar to be left as I am, rather then dragged kicking and screaming into the spotlight with no mask.” A shiver ran down his spine at the thought. “I don’t care if you fire me on what’s only my second day here, Mr. Stark; I’m loyal to my friends.” _Now_ he catches a glimpse of green-and-gold out of the corner of his eye. Of course. How could he have thought Loki would miss the chance to overhear something this awkward. Or maybe he’d been there the whole time? _Damn magic._

A long pause followed, Peter bristling a little at the hard stare Tony was giving him, feeling his face heat, but he stood his ground.

“You know what he thinks is after him?”

“He’s more sort of after it.”

“You meet him frequently?”

“I’ll stop entirely if I find out you’re having me tracked.”

“You really must get on with him.”

“At least I haven’t been flirting with him,” Peter shot back, then hesitated, and clapped a hand over his mouth for a moment. “That––came out wrong.”

“Wait. Wait. Are you––” The inventor’s eyes suddenly went very wide. “No.”

“Uh, well-”

Thor looked amused. “Was it his female form?”

“Oh, I hate it when I’m right, sometimes! _You_ should have warned me about the shape-shifting thing _way_ earlier, for this very reason,” Tony bit out. He then turned back to Peter. “And _you_ said you’d never seen her face-” He stopped. “Okay, I see what you did there, and that’s just underhanded.”

“Well,” said a familiar voice to their left. “He does have _me_ for a patron god.”

Peter rolled his eyes as Thor and Tony’s heads predictably whipped over to stare in surprise, disgruntlement and disbelief at Loki. Then he looked too and startled a bit, to see the trickster hadn’t arrived alone.

They all looked battered, and a bit bloodstained. Gamora leaned heavily on the nearest lab table to take weight off of her wounded left leg, the others to her right. The god of mischief, sans helmet, had his right arm slung across Quill’s shoulder for support. His other arm was against his side, forearm applying pressure just below his ribcage, blood visibly escaping from behind it in spite of such efforts. His armor, too had seen better days. He was even paler than usual, and clearly exhausted, but offered a smile that might have looked benign on almost anyone else. Despite his injuries, he appeared perfectly composed and even faintly amused through the pain. Quill looked extremely worried about both of them, but less injured; although most of his coat was severely scorched in such a way as to indicate that has been a near thing.

It was a moment in which Parker could really believe Loki possessed enough stubborn pride to pull his sanity back together after it shattered, just to deny anyone the satisfaction of having ended or beaten him.

“Brother, are you well?” Thor asked, while Tony seemed to still be reeling a bit.

“Minor miscalculation, let’s say. It hadn’t entirely occurred to me that the persons I’ve been looking for might be, in their turn, looking for _me_ , of very recent, and thus prepared for me should I try to visit them,” Loki said.

“You’re bleeding a bit, there,” Parker pointed out.

“I’m aware.”

“By a bit, I mean a lot.”

“I’m _aware_ ,” Loki repeated.

“You’re turning also very grey, and your veins are discolored at your throat, Loki,” Tony pointed out quietly.

Loki grimaced, trying to force himself back into stillness with minimal results. “Oh.” He slowly drew from Peter’s grasp and braced his free arm against the lab table, surprised when both Guardians took hold of his shoulders to help him stay upright when his knees felt increasingly unreliable. He closed his eyes then, visibly beginning to shake. He swore for a moment, then took a deep breath and said in self-deprecating but perfectly composed tones, “Much though it pains me to admit this, I may require some assistance. I think I’ve been poisoned. Thor, it would be a very good idea for you to lay low with your friends in their tower, just a suggestion.” Then he collapsed, and Quill and Gamora visibly struggled to cope with the sudden realization that the god of mischief really was far heavier than he looked.

Thor ran over, with surprising speed, to help them lower him to the floor non-violently. Parker, for his part, registered ‘unknown poison’ and started rummaging for a first aid kid nearby, and a few things from the biotech corner of Candyland.

Tony seemed to be in a state of light shell-shock, which both Peters were waiting to see the end results of. “What the hell just happened? Who the hell are you people?”

“Allies of Loki’s, against Thanos,” Gamora responded.

“Call me Quill, or Starlord, we’re not from your planet except I was born here but I’m only half human except I didn’t know that even though I was raised mostly off-world, but that’s a long story,” her human companion added, “And you have an unconscious but valuable liar bleeding on the floor of your lab. He might be dying. Feel like helping a brother out?” He jabbed a thumb toward Thor emphatically, where the thunderer now sat beside his brother, checking his pulse and breathing with the clinical surety of a warrior who has applied field medicine a great deal, over the centuries.

The inventor looked between the self-proclaimed half-human, and Thor, before meeting Gamora’s stare with more apparent curiosity, if only because he didn’t see any reason to hide the fact she was harder to read than the others. So he asked her, “Why did he say that to Thor?”

“The Kree wished to find Loki in order to make use of him, by one way or another, to reach the tesseract,” she answered.

“The who?” Parker muttered, mostly to himself.

Tony smacked his forehead. “Which is in Asgard. And Thor would be their only remaining ticket there if they expected Loki to die of whatever they poisoned him with. Okay, then. I’m going to go get Bruce. I’ll lock out the other R&D personnel. They’ll just think I blew up something particularly volatile again.”

“Why do we need this guy?” Quill asked sharply.

“One, when he’s ticked off he becomes large and green and he can beat Loki senseless if it comes to that. Two, he’s the only doctor I’d trust to work out how to treat a frost giant.”

The shoulders of both Peters slumped in relief, but Gamora looked confused and wary. She inquired, “And what about Quill and myself?”

“Are you called Gamora?” Thor asked, low and shrewd.

She whirled on him, instinctively moving her feet into a more defensible stance, but she did not attack and after a moment, nodded. “I am.”

“At his trial, he did recommend you to Asgard, if they wished to infiltrate Thanos’ ranks. He advised that he suspected you have a heroic streak in you, despite everything, and that given opportunity to rebel, you would. From what I have heard of the fate of Ronan, he was not incorrect.”

The assassin wondered how surprised Loki might have been, if conscious at the time, finding out that Thor had known more about her involvement in Ronan’s destruction than Loki had. “You searched for news of me, after he said that?”

Thor nodded. “Anthony, I would strongly recommend alliance with these people. They have already saved this galaxy from one recent threat imposed upon it by Thanos.”

“And by extension your brother?” Tony asked slowly.

“We shall see,” Thor responded, then turned back to Gamora, “How might we identify the poison in my brother’s system?”

“I can do that!” Peter Parker cut in, relieved to finally find a way to cut through the dramatic tension and use the sample-collecting tools in his hands. “I’ll get blood samples and start running tests.” Reassured that Iron Man was, in fact, not going to do anything potentially harmful to Loki, Peter darted over, only to hesitate a bit when confronted with the prospect of kneeling beside Loki when on the trickster’s opposite side loomed the imposing physical presence of the god of thunder.

“He’s entirely unconscious,” Thor said.

“I figured. Look, I need to run these swabs over that impressive rip in his armor. I can try to find out about the poison he mentioned, and see if we can counter-act it.” Once he got the nod of approval, Peter knelt down and went to work. When he glanced up, he found himself being stared at with disconcerting intensity.

The thunder god looked at him, his expression thoughtfully appraising. “Thank you, for being loyal as you are. My brother has not had many such friends in his life.”

“Uh.” _Because really? What’s a guy supposed to say to that?_ “It’s not difficult for me, really. I like him. We get along pretty well.”

Thor smiled a little. “I noticed.”

“See if you can get his armor out of the way, then keep putting pressure on the wound, there. I’ve got tests to run on these.”

The thunder god nodded, and Peter darted away again.

While his new lab assistant began prepping the samples, Tony strode closer and intercepted Quill’s hand from curiously tugging open a nearby cabinet. “Don’t touch my stuff, or some of it might touch you back, in here. It’s all prototypes in here, and a lot of them explode.”

It suddenly dawned on Starlord that the name on all those satellites he didn’t dare screw around with when revisiting anywhere near Terra’s stratosphere was this guy’s name. This was Tony Stark. The part of him that remembered being awed by Stark tech since he was a kid took a long look around the R&D department, and then fixed his attention right back on Stark. “You should fund NASA more.”

“I’ve tried, but they’re not allowed to accept my help mostly for political reasons. Desperate attempts in government to force me back into the weapons industry, mostly.”

“Ohhh, wow, dude that sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. Not like Iron Man isn’t already space-compatible.”

“No shit? Oh, hey, you might dig these, actually, look-” He started to take off one of his boots.

Gamora took this opportunity to lower herself to the floor with a hiss, and to start examining her own wounds on her leg.

“Were you hit with the same weapon that my brother was?” Thor asked.

“You’re more observant than he led me to believe,” she riposted.

He laughed, softly, but there was sadness in the sound. “He would argue that he never said I was not unobservant in any matters to do with war. It is in all other things that I am still learning how to be observant of.”

She nodded. “My life has never allowed me the luxury of that, thusfar. If you do have the option to observe, I would recommend it.”

The thunderer hummed thoughtfully, at that. “The poison has not afflicted you, but you do not seem surprised by this.”

“Wait, she’s poisoned too?” Parker called from across the room.

“It isn’t designed to kill me. I feel nauseous, and very tired, but the way we were attacked at the end was desperate,” Gamora explained, loud enough that Tony and Quill stopped comparing flight technology and Parker could hear her. “They used weapons meant for mages. It will be afflicting his magic first and foremost.”

Thor cursed softly, and again rested a hand across his brother’s brow, frowning again to find it still colder than before; although Loki’s heartbeat and breathing showed no signs of hypothermia as any Aesir would, if their blood temperature were so low as Loki's now felt to Thor's touch. Not knowing whether that was even a good sign, or a bad one, any longer, reignited in him a quiet anger.

Gamora was slightly aware of it, but mostly was noticing some dizziness. She didn’t realize how bad it actually was until Quill knelt in front of her looking concerned. His mouth moved but it took her a moment to recognize it as speech.

“-sure you’re okay? Because, I’m just saying, you really don’t look okay all of a sudden,” her friend told her.

She blinked at him. “I just need to sleep it off. I’ve got... alterations, under the skin. Improvements. Poisons get processed out. Not that I was told that until I’d survived being poisoned the first time, but that was worse than this.” She tried to wave it off dismissively, but the gesture seemed a bit drunken. “Damn. Slow to kick in, but I guess it will have side effects on me. And it’s one of _those_ sorts of poisons.”

“You are, however, well?” Thor asked, also sounding concerned now.”

“The longer I’m awake, the more likely I am to hallucinate, is all,” she said.

“There’s a few cots in one of the closets,” Tony said. “I can set up a couple for the wounded, here. You need those wounds cleaned?”

She did the feeble waving-off gesture again. “I’ll be fine.”

As soon as Tony returned and setup a cot, she curled up in it and passed out.

“Is this normal?” Tony asked.

“For her? Yeah, actually. I... should seal that wound on her calf, though. She heals fast, but if she’s poisoned too, not as fast as usual.” He opened a small kit on his belt with some medical supplies a bit more advanced than those of Earth.

The inventor nodded, and after exchanging commiserating looks with Thor, headed over to help Parker with some of the samples, both to speed up processing, and to take his mind off the fact that his mystery lady was apparently the god of lies, who was also apparently dying a little.

“How is this my life?” he didn’t ask himself. At least, not out loud.

 

~~

 

By the time Bruce arrived, Thor had managed to get Loki into a cot too, and remove most of his armor and clothes from the waist up to expose the mage’s multiple open wounds.

Peter was thinking aloud and Thor was nearby enough to be listening. “I’ve ruled out anything involving heavy metals or anything based on any known venomous creatures on earth. Honestly, it’s acting a bit like a neurotoxic venom.”

“It well may be. Such poisons are commonly used on problematic mages throughout the nine realms,” the thunderer said. “They are slow-acting, such that their more prominent effects avoid notice until they’ve already disabled what few magics the mage might have which would be able to combat them. You are familiar with animal venoms?”

“I know a lot about it, yeah. It comes with the territory.”

“Tony, when you said we had a wounded Norse god...” Bruce started.

“Yeah, Thor’s fine. Loki here has seen better days, though.”

“So I noticed. And he’s poisoned, too, I hear? Is that a second patient?”

Quill, sitting beside said patient said, “Nah, she’ll be fine.”

“Yep,” Tony concurred. “Bad day for Loki, apparently. That part is apparently being handled even better than I expected, though, by the sounds of it. Meet my new intern, by the way.” Tony mused.

“Indeed so.” Bruce left him and strode up to Peter on his way to the two gods. “I’m Bruce Banner.” He proffered his hand.

Peter shook it, grinning. “I’ve read some of your work. It’s an honor. I’m Peter Parker.”

“From the Bugle?”

“Yeah. I’m an intern.”

Bruce looked from him, to the unconscious super-villain, and back to Peter. “And?”

Voice pitched low enough that Quill wouldn’t overhear, Parker muttered, “Uh, I’m Spider-man. Don’t go telling anyone about it, though. I wear a mask for a reason.”

“Good idea, really. Especially at your age,” Bruce concurred, also low, then returned to normal speaking tones: “So, a neurotoxin?”

“I’ve got a handle on it for now, but I’d love your input when maybe we’ve got the gaping wound on Loki’s side closed, since the alien healing kit over there isn’t mage-compatible. Also if we can get confirmation that there aren’t any other surprises in store for us aside from that? Then that would be nice.”

“Is he sedated?”

“I gave him a few things that should keep him knocked out, in case whatever the poison is doing to him lets up when its at its most agonizing. Before that, he was seeing occasional muscle spasms.”

“Which things did you administer?”

“JARVIS just referred to them as ‘Thor-strength’ tranquilizers.”

“Good. Alright, then.” Bruce rolled up his sleeves. “Tony, toss me my kit will you?” He’d designed an specialized first-aid kit suitable for Avengers-related disasters.

Tony held up a case that was big enough to fit a full-size saxophone in. “Right here.” He tossed it over to Bruce, who caught it, and strolled over to his patient. He set the case down on a nearby bench and opened it, donning a pair of gloves as he eyed the god of mischief’s injuries and overall condition shrewdly.

“He’s a real mess.”

“Very heartening, Bruce Banner,” Thor said airily.

“I’ve seen worse, though. The wound mostly just needs stitches. The rest will heal given how you and he heal, but I don’t envy him how it’ll feel to grow back some of those damaged tissues. The only reason it isn’t closing is likely to do with the poison.” He started to lay out a few implements and begin to clean the wound. “It’s not an anticoagulant?”

“No, and nothing we’ve got is known to work on, er, Jotunns,” Peter responded.

Tony then appeared at the younger man’s elbow. “How’s it looking?”

“Venomous, Thor confirmed. This stuff contains a sort of natural poison produced by something that hunts creatures with a bit of magic in them, which is not great, really. Anti-venom isn’t usually an easy thing to process on short notice.”

“So it’s mostly biological, and messing with his nervous system?”

“Among other things.”

“Okay. So, anti-venom would take a long while-”

“Eight hours. Maybe nine.”

Tony blinked. “That’s... not the general impression I’ve gotten on that front.”

“This is bio-engineering, and I’ve been unusually fascinated with a certain class of venomous creatures for a few years now,” Peter said quietly, sounding distracted as he further adjusted the microscope. “I’m good at this sort of thing. I’ve kinda had to be.”

“You and Bruce should really chat, when you get the chance,” Tony said firmly. “You keep working on that, I’m going to dig through some of the collection.”

“The collection?”

“Stuff we’ve taken from villains over the last year. And maybe a few things surreptitiously nicked from a certain organization whose acronym rhymes with ‘field’, too. If there’s something that can kick-start his magic enough, he should be able to take care of the rest. I’m not sure we have anything though, so... anti-venom is probably still the likelier option. Still, it might be worth a shot. Keep an eye on the Quill guy, will you? He’s tried to steal about three things so far that I’ve actually caught him at.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just suggested that handing Loki a reasonably powerful magical artifact might _not_ be a catastrophic idea,” Peter mused lightly. “That would be almost a little like trust.”

“Another reason to have Bruce around.”

“I doubt you really want the Hulk teaching Loki a lesson in your candy-land.”

“If needs must.”

“Don’t lie to a liar,” Peter shot back.

“You should talk.”

“It wasn’t _really_ a lie.”

“You knew she was Loki, though.”

“Well, yeah. I’d seen him shape-shift into a different guy when we met the first time. The eyes and the way she talked to me were a bit of a dead give-away. Even if they hadn’t been, her ability to take Doc Ock down with an elbow to the throat would’ve fairly well cinched it for me. They make ‘em pretty resilient up in Asgard, don’t they?”

“He shape-shifted when you first met. So he was in a different disguise. One he wears more often, maybe?”

“He’ll tell you about that himself, if he feels like it.”

Tony frowned at him. “You know, you’re not nearly as entertaining when you’re speaking in vague hints about a particular riddle as he is.”

“Well, to be fair, you’ve never been interested in flirting with me. Which I’m glad of really: I’m straight, I have a girlfriend, you’re sort of my boss...”

“You’ve been expecting this to happen the whole time, haven’t you?”

“It seemed a bit inevitable, really.” Peter looked up from his work briefly. “Especially since he seems to actually like you.”

Tony dropped the stylus he’d been fidgeting with. “This is... incredibly awkward.”

“Welcome to my life, Tony Stark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gamora's dream before Loki showed up was actually based on one that a friend of mine described as being a fairly normal one for her, for a few years straight. I myself rarely ever have dreams that can be remembered upon waking, so I borrowed hers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debts are incurred, some Avengers are informed of the potentially apocalyptic plans in motion from threats other than Thanos, in such as way that they’ll believe it, ground rules are laid out, and an evening is very well-spent.

In the end, with Bruce Banner and Peter Parker working together along with occasional suggestions and commentary from Tony Stark (when he wasn’t indisposed by virtue of also being elbow-deep in villain paraphernalia at the time) the anti-venom only took about six hours to process. Well, it took about five hours for Gamora to wake up, scold Quill for being an idiot and proceed to inform Dr. Banner and Peter Parker how to adapt some of the items in her own med-kit pouch to expedite things still further––and then it took only an hour to process the antivenom. Peter was still buzzing from the whirlwind of that past hour, even as he waited nervously to see if the efforts were worth it.

After considerable persuasion, Bruce and Tony had gotten Thor to leave the room with them, leaving behind the persons that they thought would be least likely to cause any instinctive, violent reactions from Loki upon his waking. Along the way to the door, Tony had also stopped Starlord from picking up a piece of repulsor tech and dragged him out too. Bruce had still been chuckling and shaking his head in disbelief over the “patron god” idea as they left. 

It took about ten minutes before Loki sat up sharply, shooting alarmed looks around the room before finally focusing on Gamora, and then Peter. For a moment, his expression remained suspicious to an almost feral extent, then he turned to face the assassin and the superhero squarely, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the table. His expression cleared into one of weary resignation. “How many people do I now regrettably owe a boon for saving my life?”

“Five,” Gamora answered, “I presume you don’t count Thor.”

“As it stands, I think he did less than the rest of you, and yes he does not count; however, you and Quill were acting under the terms of our alliance, and thus you don’t get a bonus boon, darling, just for doing your due diligence as an ally.”

She shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

“Thor would’ve done more if he could,” Peter added.

“I’m aware.” Loki looked down at himself: bloodied, with stitches in his side which already looked far less inflamed than they had before the injection. “So yourself, Peter, Tony Stark, and who else? Dr. Banner?”

The human nodded. “Figures you’d guess.”

Loki shot him a look. “I know no other Avenger who has served in the medical field. Do you?”

A knock on the door made Peter jump slightly, but Gamora didn’t even blink, nor look away from the trickster’s face.

After staring at the door for a moment, Peter turned and raised his eyebrows in a silent question, his eyes flicking back and forth between both aliens in search of answers from either of them.

Loki snapped his fingers, and suddenly appeared to wear a well-fitted plain black t-shirt that contrasted less oddly with his Asgardian trousers than it had any right to, at the same time that the door opened seemingly of its own accord, revealing the three Avengers outside.

“Looks like your magic is fine,” Peter observed.

The god nodded. “It’s sluggish, and I am still quite drained, but yes. Otherwise fine. I should even be able to teleport without hindrance again soon, if only within city limits.” He then beamed beatifically at the Avengers as they approached.

“So. Who sliced you and decided to season the wound with mage-killing juice?” Tony called, smiling sweetly as he strolled in, the others following shortly after him.

“Are you at all familiar with someone called Captain Mar-vell?” Loki asked.

“Yeah. Kree, isn’t he? Kind of shady, but helped us prevent a Kree take-over, so not all bad. He’s been on an extended ‘diplomatic visit’ to his home planet for several months, though, only checking in now and then,” Tony said. “He’s involved?”

Loki said gravely, “He’s been afflicted with a distortion of perception.”

Tony blinked twice, his expression masked. “You’re sticking to that story, then.”

“It’s true, so yes. It wasn’t easy to get rid of for me, either,” Loki responded.

“Wait, when did you two discuss _that_?” Peter asked. “Do I want to know?”

Quill appeared puzzled, like he suspected he was missing something, and Gamora raised an eyebrow, glancing back and forth between the human inventor and the trickster god.

“I may have visited another suitably fashionable soirée,” said Loki to the spider.

“By the way, guys: what’s going on?” Bruce asked, sounding mildly exasperated, yet deeply unsurprised.

Tony and Peter exchanged glances. With Bruce, they had joined forces briefly to explain the facts Loki had deliberately botched his invasion for reasons seemingly unknown, but not too much more than that. Quill hadn’t been too forthcoming about the guy that the Guardians of the Galaxy were allied with Loki to find, other than to mention a connection to Thanos, which Parker confirmed, but getting further details from them seemed pointless, since all they had were Loki’s and Gamora’s explanations to reiterate in incomplete forms. Tony also certainly hadn’t mentioned the bit about Loki in disguise as a woman, nor discussing mind control issues with any mysterious strangers lately.

“Thor and I have been trying to track him down, lately. I was given a few clues,” Tony summarized succinctly after only a couple of seconds’ pause.

“From...” Bruce gestured towards Loki, not taking his eyes off the god, and instead using his peripheral vision to detect Tony nodding affirmatively his way. “Okay, Loki. Why?”

“Because I’m chaotic by nature, yes, but I live in this universe same as the rest of you, and what my current primary enemies want to do with it, I’m quite averse to.” The trickster considered for a moment, and shot Gamora a questioning look.

With visible reluctance, she turned and looked to Quill and Stark.

Tony cleared his throat. “Right. Well. We told Bruce you guys are after a big bad Kree who is somehow connected to Thanos, but Parker was cagey on the rest of the details. We’re inclined to let him be, since all he has is your word, which is hard enough to trust first-hand, let alone second. Also Quill is not a good narrator, nor a reliable one.”

“Fuck you too, Stark,” Starlord cooed.

The trickster chuckled.

“You’re not off to a great start by telling us that one of our known allies might be responsible for poisoning you,” Bruce cut in.

“He did not poison me, but I was seeking information about him, when I was attacked by Kree who turned out to already have plans to lure me there sooner rather than later. I was just unexpectedly early, but even so, they were still more prepared to detect, harm and potentially capture me than I could have anticipated,” Loki explained further. “Apparently their attempts to break into Asgard to steal the Tesseract lately have been very unsuccessful, so they wanted to forcibly make some use of a more successful thief.” His ensuing grin was all bitterness.

Bruce nodded. “So why are you after Mar-Vell?”

“He is either already afflicted with an infectious force that he cannot hope to control, against his will, or he very soon will be––but there is no known cure, and even if I do find him, I know not how to prevent it from taking control of his mind,” Loki said gravely. “I am trying to reach him before certain other forces, who are also now looking for him, and whose intent is to spread their afflictions to every living thing in this universe, Dr. Banner.”

“What sort of infection?”

“The only symptom is an inability to die. Whether they are plant or animal or bacterium, no matter what happens to the afflicted cells, they cannot die,” Gamora explained. “In Thanos’ sanctuary, the walls between universes are very thin. Thanos long believed that another version of himself, from another universe, was aiding him in his conquests and victories, in his quests to create monuments to Mistress Death, whom he worships and loves. I long suspected that those forces were not exactly _friendly_ , but one of Mistress Death’s champions found myself and the other Guardians of the Galaxy, and informed us that on the other side of those too-thin walls is a universe wherein an Avatar of Life has risen up and eternally conquered Death within that universe. Every living soul there, unable to die, has an insatiable hunger, unable to die as they are, and cancerous as that hunger has made them, they seek to expand into many other universes, in order to convert and consume their way through the multiverse like worms through an apple.”

“How reliable was the champion?” Bruce asked.

“Reliable,” Thor rumbled softly.

When Loki’s bitter grin faltered just a moment into something more sincere and then dropped entirely into a more masked expression, Tony realized the champion in question was probably Hela. He decided not to broadcast it.

“Peter, what was that writer you mentioned? There was a descriptive term, as well, that went with him,” the trickster asked lightly.

“H.P. Lovecraft,” the younger man supplied. “What you described sounded Lovecraftian. Eldritch undying horrors, and all that. Cancerous universe. I thought it fit.” He glanced around at the others nervously, but then realized the members of the audience who looked most lost were technically aliens, and felt a bit better. Or half-alien, in Quill’s case. _Close enough._

Bruce was looking at Thor for elaboration.

“The champions of Death are respected throughout the realms, Dr. Banner. They would not lie, especially about the safety of their Mistress,” the thunderer explained. “If they speak falsely of Mistress Death, she often appears and causes them to vanish, erasing them from history where possible. This operates in much the same way that I cannot break my word, if I have given an oath, without risking my blood boiling in my veins until I die an agonizingly slow death, and the same goes for my brother.”

“Charming,” Bruce muttered. “How did you reconnect with Loki? And uh, how did you actually know each other before this? Under Thanos?”

“Thanos killed my family in front of me, and my entire world, but saved me for augmentation and future usefulness as a soldier, to make me into one of his so-called ‘children’––also known as his elite enforcers. In my case, I was not exposed to the ‘Light’ from between worlds as even Loki was, in order to convert him to Thanos’ cause; although he apparently broke free of it by means I still don’t understand. This ‘Light’ is a contagious form of reality-distortion Thanos uses on all of his troops with too much willpower to be entrusted with independence. I was left unexposed, along with half a dozen other more loyal ‘children’ in order to go on missions wherein people such as Ronan needed to be steered to Thanos’ whims, despite say, Kree being unwilling to speak to any of Thanos’ subordinates under such strict forms of mind-control. It goes against their government’s religion for anyone other than their Supreme Intelligence to be allowed those privileges. I am so far one of only two of Thanos’ children to have escaped this way. The others, have escaped only in death.”

“Ronan,” Bruce murmured. “Quill did manage to explain what a dick that guy was, at least. So you were in his ranks... when Loki was a prisoner?” When she nodded, he turned to Loki. “And you have no hard feelings here?”

“She was the only decent conversation in that whole solar system,” the trickster remarked. “I presumed she would eventually defect, and do love it when I’m right.”

“And then I found him at his day job, down here” Gamora suggested.

Loki glared at her.

“What, they don’t know you have a career?” she asked sweetly.

Quill slowly began to smirk as he realized he was finally getting to watch her do this to somebody else for a change.

The trickster continued glaring.

“I suspected,” Thor muttered. “He is incapable of idleness, when not actually sulking.”

“Do please shut up, Thor,” Loki snapped.

“So you get stabbed and show up here hoping for an alliance?” inquired Bruce.

“To be fair, being stabbed was not the original plan, and nor was landing in close proximity to Avengers,” Loki admitted. “I had to teleport within close range to the last major spell-work I did no Earth, as an emergency backup measure, due to being low on power, in order to get back here. The rest of the Guardians of the Galaxy managed to escape in their ship, but we were not able to reach them in time.”

A long pause passed.

“What spell?” Thor asked.

“A tracking spell on him,” Loki pointed at Peter Parker. “As a result, I do now owe you mortals a sizable boon for saving my life. My allies were already planning to preserve my life for their own reasons, but the rest of you acted more altruistically than I expected. Thus... if I agree to grant what boon you ask of me, I am bound to it. It comes with being a god. It was hardly my intention to incur such a debt, no matter what _sympathy_ my pathetic state on arrival might have inspired,” Loki scathed.

“Thor? Accuracy rating?” Tony prompted.

“He speaks the truth. He would not be able to go against his word on the matter.” He watched Loki closely. “You look far better than when we last met, brother. Aside from the poisoning.”

Loki offered a passive shrug. “I’ve been recovering.” He spared Peter a glance, very briefly, before returning his attention to Thor.

Tony noticed. “Do you owe each of us individually, or is this a group deal?”

“It depends on the boon,” Thor said.

“What would _you_ ask of me, Tony Stark?” Loki prompted, folding his arms over his chest and meeting the inventor’s gaze with his own. He looked very curious indeed, and only a little bit leering. “Now knowing what you do.”

After long consideration, Tony said simply, “Maybe answers. But later.”

Loki nodded, his expression becoming an unreadable mask. “Dr. Banner?”

“If it’s really that binding, then what I want is your word that you will not try and take over the Earth again, or any nations thereof, whether it’s with intent to fail or no; and furthermore, your word that you will answer any of the Avengers truthfully when asked about anything you might know concerning any other person’s attempts to take over and/or destroy the earth,” Bruce said flatly. “This would include universe-destroying attempts as well, obviously.”

“Woah, I’ve gotta remember that one,” Quill muttered.

“Yes, your practicality is refreshing,” Loki said, scathing and droll as he could manage, which was quite a bit. “You are certain that this is what you want from me?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Loki sighed heavily, looking a bit put-out. “Granted. You have my binding word, however reluctant, you lucky creature.” He turned. “Peter?”

“I’ll have to think on it. I really don’t know, and I’m not going to be hasty about it.” He frowned. “I’ll let you know. Mostly I’m glad you seem to be alright.”

The god of mischief smiled faintly and nodded. “Fair enough.”

“So. This ‘Light’ is from this Cancer-verse of yours?” Tony mused.

Loki met his gaze. “Yes, and it is much as Gamora described in its goals; although it is notable that what it shows Thanos himself, differs in several key ways from the visions it bestows upon others. He would bring all the universe to Death herself if he could, but it showed me and others a vision of a time where no one dies, lit up golden and made to look beatific.”

“So why didn’t you fall for it?” Bruce asked.

“I made a scarecrow out of lies and self-distortion for it to burn through instead, buried what was still left of myself deep as I could below it, and did my best to conceal from myself and the Light, how much of my self-control remained intact.”

“Performance art,” Tony suggested.

Loki nodded to him. “That magic cost me a great deal, as you know. Over a very long period of time.”

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed, “I remember.”

“I suspect that the ‘Light’ itself is psychic energy, somehow amplified, from the Avatar of Life in the cancerous universe,” Loki said.

“Avatar? Seriously?” Tony muttered.

“Thanos is considered the Avatar of Mistress Death, for example,” Gamora said. “If there is an equal embodiment of the force of life in this world akin to Mistress Death, I have never seen her, and her ways are unknown to me even in rumors and myths, but there is an Avatar of Life in every universe. If the one here can be contained, or prevented from following the path of his counterpart in the Cancer-verse, we can prevent them tearing through into our universe.”

“I still say it would be safer just to kill him,” the god of lies added.

“We should at least attempt otherwise first, as we agreed,” Quill cut in.

Loki rolled his eyes and looked beseechingly at Gamora.

She shrugged, giving a rueful sigh of her own, suggesting she wasn’t altogether convinced either.

“So what is it they want the tesseract for?” Thor asked.

Loki spared his brother only a brief glance. “They need it to return to Thanos’ current residence, and open up the walls. The Kree military, at least, have been led to believe that the tesseract can destroy Thanos, which they are eager to do now that he is hoping for revenge after the Ronan debacle, and will likely blame the rest of the Kree,” Quill said quickly. When Gamora and Loki both looked his way, he shrugged. “I overheard it on some of the comm links Rocket and I were hacking, while you two were busy working on escape plans. The government always lies to those guys, though, so there’s probably other reasons, too.”

“Good job,” Gamora said.

Quill beamed.

To the others, she added, “One of our teammates is still processing the rest of the data we got from the Kree. We should be able to find out whether or not Mar-Vell had anything to do with steering the Kree towards the tesseract, and what he has been up to lately. Hopefully, he has not yet been brought close enough to Thanos’ sanctuary for the other Avatar of Life to get any hooks into his psyche.”

“If those hooks are already in place?” Tony prompted.

“Then he will probably try to destroy us violently,” said Gamora, “and I would not recommend letting him.”

Getting them back on track, Loki extrapolated further, “Either that, or he would flee towards Thanos’ Sanctuary. Thanos, being amongst the afflicted, might not fully realize what the Light’s plan is until then. Being in love with Mistress Death as he is, I do believe that the moment he realizes there is a plot against her, he will fight against their control with all of his considerable strength; however, it would make no difference, once they used the tesseract to break those thin walls.”

“It’s capable of that?” Tony asked.

“Yes. It is.”

“Bruce? Let me just say: good call on the boon,” the inventor said.

“Thank you, Tony.”

“I’m surprised you agreed to it, brother.”

Loki smiled brighter and a little fiercer then. “I’m no hero as you are, Thor. I already allied with a few heroes, lately, over this.” He gestured towards the Guardians of the Galaxy illustratively. “Why would I turn down an opportunity to collect more, and establish the advantage of being believed when I’m actually sincere about matters, for once in my life?”

“Yep, you’re still an ass,” Tony muttered.

“And you like it anyway,” Loki shot back, aiming a smirk at him.

The inventor considered. “Maybe.”

Bruce looked from the god of mischief, to the man on Earth with enough arrogance to think himself a god, and back again. Then he rolled his eyes and shot Peter a sympathetic look.

The younger man looked momentarily surprised, then clung to his sleeve. “ _We_ need to hang out more.”

“Yes we do,” Bruce agreed, sounding a little amused.

Loki looked suddenly alarmed, as a thought occurred to him. “Peter. What time is it?”

“Oh, it’s-” He checked his watch and grimaced. “You’ve got twenty minutes before they notice you’re late.”

“Grand. Well, you did tell me I’m overdue for a dose of her wrath.”

“She’ll be even more wrathful if you don’t hustle over there,” Peter said flatly.

“Shit,” the god of mischief muttered. He looked at Gamora. “You have your holographic illusions on hand, yes?”

She nodded. “What, no teleport home for us first?”

“My apologies, but I haven’t the time because, as you did point out, I have a _career_ to upkeep,” he riposted, and then vanished in a puff of green smoke.

“What... what was that about?” Bruce asked.

“Oh. He’s late.”

“What for?” inquired Tony.

“Classified,” Peter said.

Everyone stared at him.

“I’ve always wanted to say that,” Parker sighed. “Fine. His _alter-ego_ is late for something.”

“He has an alter-ego?” Bruce sounded incredulous.

“Yeah, looks real cute and everything,” Quill said. “Is that surprising?”

“And the alter-ego has a job, is all, no big deal,” Parker added.

“Wait, what job?” That was from Tony this time. He had thought the career bit was a joke when Gamora had mentioned it earlier, and now that it wasn’t he suddenly saw nothing funny about this.

“And, this is my cue to remind everyone that it’s my rule not to reveal anyone’s secret identities without their express permission,” Parker announced. “I consider it common courtesy.”

“But what sort of job would he even-” Tony stopped short, going suddenly pale as realization struck with all the mercy of a rockslide. “Oh _god_.”

“Not a word, Stark,” Peter said sharply, sounding sure, though a flicker of panic showed in his expression. “Just be glad he didn’t think of lawyer as an option and rejected the idea of a political career outright.”

“You need to stop lying to me,” Tony said sharply. “You knew damn well where I’d seen him before!”

“Oh yes, because telling you right then would’ve gone over _really_ well.”

Tony opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. “Okay, yeah. Impromptu job interviews really aren’t the place for that sort of revelation. A little warning would’ve still been nice before I’d-” He cut off, rubbing his hands over his face. “God he’s such an asshole!”

“To be fair, you started this,” Peter said.

“Not another word, Parker. Call it a truce.”

“Agreed.”

“Thor, I get the feeling we’re missing something,” Bruce observed airily. “Should I be too concerned you think?”

“Knowing Loki, it may very well be best not to ask,” Thor intoned.

Bruce nodded. “You’re probably right.”

Gamora and Quill exchanged looks, then looked at Tony appraisingly.

The internationally renowned playboy felt the back of his neck heat and knew it was probably turning pink. He resolved to ignore it. “Good. You two don’t worry about a thing. Gamora, Quill, are you both amenable to accepting aid from the Avengers with this project?”

“I think we can persuade the rest of our team,” Gamora replied.

“I could use a StarkPhone, just saying,” Quill pointed out. “We have no phones, and I don’t exactly have any clue what tech you guys might have that’s compatible with my ship, around here, and I’m honestly too lazy to find out.”

“Agreed, but only for now, because I plan to study your ship. I won’t steal anything, as long as you put back everything you’ve stolen today,” Tony said, grinning when this made the Guardian of the Galaxy in question swear a bit. “JARVIS, whip up a phone for Starlord here. Let him pimp it out if he likes. Parker? Please clean this place up before you leave. I’m going to get the emergency formalwear from my office and go see if I can catch a show,” Tony murmured and swept out of the room in a flurry of movement.

Gamora and Quill looked intrigued further, that the inventor had been correct in his conclusion about Loki’s workplace; although the other Avengers appeared quite baffled. Except Bruce. Bruce looked resigned.

“I bet you fifty-” Quill started.

“Nope,” Gamora interrupted.

“Aw.”

Peter wondered if he should be concerned about his boss and patron god. He tried to remind himself that these two were supposed to be adults––one of them a few thousand years old, even. Somehow, that didn’t reassure him in the least; and yet, he had no desire to try and follow them, for fear of things he might never unsee.

“Why is he suddenly off to see a show?” Bruce asked.

“Long story, sort of classified,” Peter said solemnly.

“Okay, then. I say we all hit a bar.”

Thor and Peter concurred, with feeling.* Gamora looked intrigued yet wary, but Quill was clearly thrilled, and in fact emitted an enthusiastic: “Hell yeah!”

"Wait––how old are you, actually?" Bruce asked Peter, as an afterthought.

Peter fidgeted. "Not enough to drink alcohol, but uh... I'll just order water? I still need to vent, I mean... have you seen my job?"

Bruce considered. "Fine, but only because we need to talk more about the crazy shit you pulled with some parts of that anti-venom."

The younger man grinned. "You're on."

 

~~

 

Seeing _As You Like It_ again, now that he knew who the actor playing Sir Oliver really was, Tony continued to chide himself for not working it out sooner, then reminded himself that magic was probably involved. At least, in retrospect, he was pretty sure only that could explain it. He remembered clearly that he had thought, for a moment under that stairwell, his mind had pulled some sort of trick on him, making him see Loki in an actor who wasn’t actually Loki-like at all. He had felt immense confusion, then embarrassment, and hadn’t felt at ease again until Tom Locke had vanished and that fog had seemed to lift.

Now knowing that the ginger actor was actually Loki, the inventor couldn’t help but suspect a bit of magic might have been the real source of that dazed confusion at the time.

Throughout the show, Tony kept recalling little hints, little suggestions the disguised god had dropped his way all the while: very little at first ( _we’ve conversed this long and I’ve still yet to have any urge to hurl you out of a window_ ) then more ( _A liar. A jealous brother. A weaver of webs of deceit._ ) over the three times ( _It’s fine. I’ve just led an interesting life, let’s say._ ) that they’d crossed paths. The first occasion hadn’t been intentional. The second (oh, the second) had been unexpected to them both, but Loki had lured him in deliberately that time ( _I can provide_ ) then still hidden who he was even after doubtlessly working out which villain in particular Tony had been thinking of; he could have used that, could have tempted ( _I would rather not be mere facsimile_ ) but hadn’t pressed that advantage. Then mere days later, that last occasion with Loki in female form had been quite deliberate, and in theory revealed a great deal, presuming this hadn’t been all just another elaborate mind-game starting from the first time he’d seen the dark-haired lady in the long black dress being picked up by one of Spidey’s many and myriad local nemeses.

Or, if it had started as just a game, was it still one? Did Tony want it to be?

It was the last question that was genuinely troubling, because it was an admission that with Loki it wouldn’t be just another fling, another one-off. They would keep colliding and entangling until they had deciphered each other as far as they possibly could and then––then what, exactly? _How do I want this story to end?_

And that was a question he couldn’t answer without getting at least several more pages in, past this first elaborate chapter. Tony had to admit he was more than interested enough that his desire to know where the story might go outweighed concerns about a potentially catastrophic ending, and he had a feeling that he wasn’t alone in that, not by a long shot.

So, really, Loki shouldn’t have looked so startled, however briefly, to find Tony Stark standing in the alley that the backstage entrance led out to, waiting for him. It didn’t last long, however; soon the god of mischief’s composure was fully in place once again. “I wondered when you would work this out.”

“Well, the number of mortal occupations I can see you finding acceptable and suitably interesting is a pretty short list,” Tony said, offering a shrug. “Parker seemed more nervous about me working this out than the bit about you in a dress, though. Even a little bit panicked.”

Loki smiled thinly and finished descending the stairs. “I actually live in this one, and this theater and its troupe are, in their little ways, under my protection. Not to the same extent that Peter is, but enough. I would appreciate if Tom Locke were left alone, insofar as may be possible.” He stopped when he stood before the mad inventor, only a foot of space between them.

Tony held his gaze. “Then don’t wear him around me.”

Tilting his head slightly, Loki examined his expression, then dropped the guise, but kept the Westwood suit and the dark trench coat. His looks transitioned from light and fair, to pale and dark, his eyes suddenly very green even in the relatively dim light of the alleyway. “Duly noted.”

Watching the transformation, and how few changes were really involved, Tony asked lightly, “You used a trick to keep me from recognizing you, didn’t you?”

“Yes. A small, localized spell that disrupts one’s ability to recognize someone based on their features.”

“I thought so. That request wasn’t my boon, by the by.”

“I gathered it was more along the lines of basic ground rules,” Loki acknowledged. “I am capable, on occasion, of being courteous.”

“So I noticed.” The inventor glanced pointedly at the back-stage entrance. “In retrospect, you’re such a good actor it’s frightening.”

“Are you frightened, then, Tony?”

A shiver––not of fear, or at least _mostly_ not of fear––rolled down Tony’s spine. “Yeah, a bit. You, too, I think.”

The god said nothing, though something difficult to read flickered across his expression for a moment.

“I could, in theory, request express honesty from you from here on out.”

Loki grimaced only a little. “You could.”

“I’d rather not, though. I think you’d find it difficult to function.”

A small smile, there. “Very true. Though I can deceive more than a little with honesty, just as with lies, it is––limiting, at best.”

Tony smirked a little in return. “How sincere have you really been with me, here?”

“Aside from the obvious identity-related misdirection, fairly sincere, by your standards, unusually sincere by my own. You interest me, as I’ve mentioned.”

“Same. As I’ve mentioned.”

A hint of something darker, distinctly promising, showed on Loki’s face. “How interested are you now, I wonder? Last I checked, you found the attraction problematic.”

Tony swallowed tightly. “Yeah. I don’t settle for anything less than what I really want. To see qualities in other people and realize I was attracted to them because they reminded me of _you_ was a bit of a problem. Especially given I had presumed you weren’t even aware of the whole thing, and thus I still thought you’d more soon throw me out of a window than, well, have me up against a wall. Not a healthy fixation, that.”

“I’m not a healthy fixation in general, I don’t think.”

“Neither am I. It comes with this tendency I have to deliberately pursue bad ideas, because I like to think they’re actually brilliant ideas in clever disguise.”

“How has that worked out for you?”

“Surprisingly well. I’m a superhero, my company is doing pretty well marketing clean energy around the globe and has a brilliant CEO who thankfully isn’t me, I’m not dead, and apparently even the occasional deity finds me attractive.” He arched an eyebrow. “How about you, Loki?”

“What about me?”

“I want you. Not your alter-egos: you. I want to take you apart, and it might take me a while to manage.” Tony stepped closer, heard the god of mischief inhale sharply as the space between them narrowed to a mere hair’s breadth. “What are you going to do about it?”

For a long moment, Loki didn’t move, save breathing, his eyes downcast. “You really _aren’t_ a healthy fixation either,” he mused, voice very low, “but I still want to have you up against a wall, and any number of other places.” He met the inventor’s stare, then, as one hand left his coat pocket to trace two fingers along Tony’s jaw.

“Not here, I hope.”

“Definitely not. Do credit me with some taste.”

“I do. You like _me_ , after all.”

After rolling his eyes briefly, Loki caught the mortal’s mouth with his own to shut him up for a while. He soon melted into it as Tony’s lips parted for him, and he obligingly deepened the kiss. Coconut and metal, ginger and something that tasted inexplicably of summer afternoons: the flavor of Tony Stark’s mouth alone was a more than compelling distraction, and paired with the movements of the inventor’s clever, exploratory tongue, Loki soon lost track of his his primary trains of thought entirely for a long few moments. The kiss was slow, but hungry enough to still maintain that edge of something sharper, and when it broke, the both of them were breathing a little more shallowly.

“Did you drive?”

“No. Driven.”

“I recommend you text your driver and let him know he shouldn’t bother waiting up,” Loki purred, his other hand leaving his pocket to settle on Tony’s hip.

“On our first date?” Tony asked innocently, even as he whipped out his phone and absently typed out a quick text.

“Fourth.”

“Those were dates?”

“By our peculiar standards?”

Tony grinned. “You have a point.” He hit ‘send’ and pocketed his phone again. “Plan to show me a magic trick, then?” He settled his hands on either side of Loki’s waist and pulled him in until they were pressed flush.

Loki smirked. “Yes, you must admit, it’s terribly convenient.”

They then vanished from the alleyway, and reappeared in Tony’s penthouse, near the door to his bedroom. Tony found himself pinned against the wall beside the door, with the god of mischief’s mouth on his neck.

“Convenient, yeah––god _damn_ it, your mouth is distracting,” Tony managed.

“Well, Silver-tongue isn’t just an apt moniker where my skill with words may be concerned. I’ll be happy to show you.”

The inventor made a small noise in his throat, then executed a handy maneuver he’d learned from being press-ganged into sparring sessions with Captain America, the Black Widow, and Hawkeye. As a result, he managed to change their positions around, pinning the god of lies against the wall and admiring his look of amused surprise. Tony deftly unbuckled the taller man’s belt. “First, a reminder.”

“Of?”

Tony grinned, then unbuttoned and unzipped the god’s trousers. “The fact that you’re not in absolute control, with me, Loki.” He then knelt and set about proving his point.

Caught slightly off-guard, Loki made a gratifyingly broken sound as Tony’s mouth wrapped around the head of his cock. “Point taken.” He hissed when the warmth of that mouth retreated.

“Not yet, I don’t think,” Tony mused, his fingers wandering lower as he spoke, and caressing the god’s balls a little when the inventor again applied his mouth, taking Loki in deeper this time, sucking lightly as he adjusted a little before sliding all the way down to the root, managing not to gag despite being a few years out of practice at this. And Loki was, well, gifted enough that that was an achievement.

Breathing more than a little raggedly by then, Loki ran a hand through Tony’s hair a bit, then paused, gripping only a little sharply, earning a hum from the inventor that did just _wonderful_ things to him. He swore and struggled not to buck his hips in response, letting Tony keep them pinned to the wall, especially as Tony began to move, bobbing his head slow and teasing at first, then progressively faster.

The inventor kept it up for several minutes, enjoying the slight struggle against his hands and the sounds he managed to pull from the usually composed god of mischief, then paused to meet Loki’s gaze, while pointedly releasing his hold on the trickster’s hips and bracing his hands on the wall. For a moment Loki looked pleasantly surprised. Then his expression quickly darkened as he accepted the unspoken invitation and began slowly fucking Tony’s mouth in long, easy strokes, guiding him with the grip he had on Tony’s hair. The inventor held his gaze, watching Loki slowly break, as his pace helplessly sped up, and grew less controlled. Swallowing around him as he came, Tony enjoyed the full-body shudder that ran through Loki as a result, leaving him a lovely, panting mess against the wall, before they had even managed to get undressed.

Loki made a faint sound as Tony released him and rose to his feet again and nipped at the god’s neck. Feeling pliant and sated for the moment, Loki raised a hand, and removed their clothing with a brief but complex gesture. “I’m going to make you scream, I think,” he said, in light and airy tones, even as he relied heavily on the wall’s support to remain upright.

Tony bit his lip and tried in vain not to look suddenly even more aroused. “Promises, promises.” He pressed closer. “The bed is through that door, if you’d care to use it, darling.”

“I rather think I would.” Loki pushed off of the wall, hands trailing down Tony’s back before pulling him along by his hips. “Come on,” he urged, and the inventor followed more than willingly. There wasn’t any magic transport involved, but he recalled opening the door, and then Loki kissing him again, hot and wet and positively filthy. Then the next thing he knew, his shoulder-blades hit the bed, and Tony found himself sprawled out there with Loki hovering over him, still kissing, and rolling his hips in a way that just wasn’t _fair_.

Then Loki’s hand skittered down his chest and belly to settle on his cock, stroking him, thumbing the head and spreading pre-come to make each movement a little slicker. His long fingers were strong and sure and not quite so soft as they looked, with just a bit of callous contributing to rougher friction despite the smooth execution of Loki’s every gesture. Tony rocked his hips into it helplessly. Then the kiss broke almost gently and he was left gasping for air as Loki’s mouth swiftly replaced his hand and _yes god of mischief can do things with his tongue that shouldn’t be possible oh god._

He wasn’t sure how long his head swam with it, overwrought with slick caresses and unpredictable, teasing suction up and down his entire length. Then the god took him to the root and swallowed around him once, then twice. Then the tongue made its presence known again and Tony emitted a less than dignified, but mellifluous moan. It was maddening and glorious and Tony thought it might come to an end soon enough to rob him of some of his dignity, when suddenly the barrage of sensation halted, and Loki took advantage of his dismay and bonelessness both to turn him over and get a firm grip on his buttocks.

Pliant as he was, Tony still made some sounds indicative of protest, but they trailed off into utter incoherency as Loki’s tongue returned, in a different location, sending sharp tremors of shock and pleasure up his spine. “Ohhhfuckdon’tstop,” he managed, gripping hard at the bedsheets shamelessly because who would’t with Loki Lie-smith’s tongue pressing into them, hot and slick, and not at all decent, and Tony hadn’t been this hard, or this unaccountably desperate in years. And Loki’s tongue just kept doing things that threatened to literally melt his brain. He forgot how to breathe at one point, and couldn’t recall how again until Loki paused to ask where he kept lubricant.

Tony managed, somehow, to communicate that it was in the top drawer of his nightstand.

“Oh good.” Then he went right back to what he was doing, and Tony thought, _oh god, he really is going to make me scream._ He gasped sharply when Loki’s tongue retreated, only to be replaced by two long, slick fingers pressing into him. _Oh good he found the lube then._

The inventor hissed at the faint burn, but relaxed quickly, feeling Loki’s mouth trail open-mouthed kisses up from there to the base of his spine, up further, pausing to scrape his teeth over sensitive skin here and there before exploring still higher. Then his fingers began to move, skillful and sure. Loki took his time, slowly opening Tony up, and finding precisely where to focus the most friction to get the most satisfactory responses.

“You’re good,” Tony groaned, sitting up slightly on his elbows. “Really good. Holy fuck.”

“Thank you, darling,” Loki purred, his mouth between the other man’s shoulder blades by then. He added a third finger and changed the angle, gratified when Tony’s hips jerked in a not-at-all discouraging fashion. “You’re lovely yourself. I can’t wait to fuck you through the mattress, in point of fact.”

“You. Have no––fuck, yes there––no right to sound so _composed_ ,” Tony panted.

“Well, you took the edge off, so I can afford to be patient.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s the plan.” He nipped at the nape of Tony’s neck, teeth sharp, fingers moving more quickly, dragging harder across his prostate.

Tony couldn’t help the way his hips jerked, the sheets under him providing a little friction, but not nearly enough. “You keep this up, I won’t––ngghfuck––last very long.”

“Oh, now I can’t have that,” Loki murmured, his formerly busy hand retreating while the other gripped Tony’s hips and lifted them off the bed. His knees pushed the inventor’s apart a bit further, making room for himself and leaning in close to hiss in the inventor’s ear, “I plan to savor you.”

Any planned reply the inventor might have had for that died before he could even finish opening his mouth to say it, because Loki began to push into him and words just weren’t going to happen unless they were half-inchoate swearing. The burn was sharp and distinct, but preparations had been thorough enough and the pain eased to a low throb that almost felt good itself, not too long after Loki slid into him to the hilt; although he felt stretched wide, and the purr of Loki’s voice in his ear paired with feeling so exposed and invaded, may have pulled a broken moan from low in Tony’s throat.

It was gratifying to feel how fast Loki’s heart was pounding, and how unsteady his breathing was, where the god’s chest pressed against his back and waited, seemingly for his own sake as much as his chosen lover’s, until Tony ground his hips back a few moments later and rasped, “Move, damn you.”

“Happy to oblige,” Loki said, sounding equally breathless. Seizing firm hold of the inventor’s hips, he then slowly pulled back, almost all the way out, only to slam back in ruthlessly, wasting no time and setting a hard pace that left his lover gasping.

Tony found it not at all fair how every stroke seemed unerringly aimed for his prostate, dragging utterly undignified sounds from him. Then again, Loki had a few more centuries of practice, and had spent a reasonable amount of time getting to know where that spot was before really getting to the fucking. It still wasn’t fair.

Neither was the cool and ragged breath against his ear, or one of Loki’s hands released his hip to trail ghost-light touches down his lower abdomen very nearly, but not quite, touching where friction was really _needed_. Most unfair of all was the rough, hungry and breathless voice of the god of mischief in his ear, saying, “I’m going to make you come so hard you’ll forget your own name, Tony, but you have to scream for me.”

The inventor made a sound, suspiciously like Loki’s name. He was far gone from the land of clear-thinking, had been almost before the god began fucking him but this? If Tony had some of his higher faculties in full working order, he might be surprised about moaning Loki’s name, considering that he had started to forget his own until it fell from the god’s lips again, at last.

“Can you do that for me?” He slowed his pace, but didn’t make it any gentler, dragging out each stroke roughly.

“Yes,” Tony managed. “Please, fuck, yes.” His arms were shaking and he knew he wouldn’t last at this rate.

Loki made a sharp, hungry sound. “Beg just once more, Tony. You make it sound so lovely,” he growled, persuasive and low and harsh with want.

“Loki, please,” Tony managed to gasp, desperation edging into his voice.

“Oh, _yes_ , that’s gorgeous,” Loki groaned, and sped up again, just a little, his hand wrapping around Tony’s cock: warm and slick, mostly from Tony’s own pre-come. He stroked in time with each pounding stroke, grip tight. “Oh, you’re so close, aren’t you?”

“You know I am, please just-” He cut off, breath hitching as Loki started thumbing the head of his cock on each stroke. Distantly, he remembered to finish inhaling his next lungful of air.

Then Loki pushed his legs a little further apart, canting his hips enough to provide a change in angle, and let go of his restraint with a broken moan.

The angle shift of Loki moving within him, that destroyed-composure sound so close to his ear, and Loki’s hand on him, cinched it. Tony came with what could only be classified as a scream. Lower, more breathless moans, and then whimpers followed as the god of mischief ruthlessly rode him through it, muttering praise and obscenities against his skin before his own orgasm took him in a rush, his final desperate thrusts sending a near-painful spasm of an after-shock along Tony’s over-sensitized nerves, but it faded into boneless relaxation and hot, heavy post-coital bliss as he drifted back down from cloud nine.

They didn’t move for a long while after that, each trying to catch their respective breaths. Loki pulled out slowly, one hand trailing down Tony’s side as he muttered something against his shoulder.

It took the inventor a moment to realize a lack of uncomfortable stickiness about not only his own person, but the sheets. “There’s seriously a spell for that?”

“I know all _sorts_ of spells,” Loki murmured, and slid off of him to lay on his back, looking satisfyingly disheveled and shagged out. He smirked when Tony rolled onto his back, incidentally in such a way as to wind up pressed up against Loki’s side.

Some parts of Tony’s body ached, but even that was still a sort of pleasure of its own, leaving him feeling full of endorphins and immense satisfaction. A lot of the inventor’s favorite activities included those things. “We should do this more often.”

“Agreed.”

“You have one helluva recovery time.”

“I’m a god.”

“So, what. Twenty minutes?”

“Ten, if you can handle it,” Loki offered.

Tony smirked wickedly. “Challenging me like that isn’t generally considered a good idea, you know.”

“Yes, well.” Loki grinned wide and relaxed and shameless. He also leered a bit lasciviously, too, for good measure. “I like bad ideas.”

 

~~

 

Gamora was enjoying watching her shipmate perpetually awkward, yet enthusiastic, as a thunder god kept him from noticing how much he had drunk so far (normally he was more fastidious, if only by virtue of staying just sober enough to keep track of Drax and Rocket, whose drunken escapades––when left alone––still result in chaos to this day), Peter Parker kept quizzing him on pop culture to make him feel old, and Bruce Banner sat beside her in a similar state of detached amusement, preferring to watch than to interfere; although, much like Gamora herself, he did contribute the occasional razor-sharp one-liner, here and there.

They had gotten out of Quill his life story, and in exchange Thor had told him a few stories from Asgard. Now, they were both distracted by Parker reluctantly recounting the events of how he met Loki in Central Park.

Gamora’s communicator earpiece went off with a muffled beep and she put a hand to her ear, ducking her head slightly as she had seen humans on their cellphones do, around the bar. “Yes, Rocket?”

“It wasn’t Mar-Vell they got the idea to hunt him from. It’s worse than that.”

The look on her face was worried enough to catch Bruce’s attention. “How?”

“They’re communicating with a Kree on the other side of Sanctuary.”

Gamora felt her stomach attempt to tie itself into a gordian knot. “Shit.”

Bruce tilted his head so she’d look his way, and when she met his gaze raised both eyebrows questioningly.

She only shook her head, muttered, “Kree bullshit,” and tapped her ear to indicate the bad news was still ongoing.

Rocket continued, “They think the Light is Thanos’. However the heck this asshole in the cancer-verse is communicating with the Kree directly is new, and isn’t psychic.”

“What about Mar-Vell? What information do we have about what he _has_ been up to?” she asked.

“They’ve been illegally scouting the Earth’s invasion potential for a few years, with him, but he keeps defying orders. They’ve been trying to manipulate him into directly disobeying where they can catch him at it, in order to execute him and claim that Earthling ideologies corrupting his mind as a reason for war.”

Gamora’s eyes fell shut gently, then squeezed shut tighter as the impact of her resulting bitter exasperation with an inconvenient universe fully sunk in. “Well shit. Are you telling me we have to save the Earth now?”

Bruce burst out laughing at that and she glared at him, but he only shook his head, giggling helplessly. “Sorry, but you sound the way I usually feel when that happens to me, too.”

Her scowl softened, then turned into a reluctant wry smile, though it faded when Rocket finished sighing and swearing and concluded, “Yeah, looks like it. Are you and Quill done making nice with the Avengers, and are they our allies yet?”

“Yes, that part at least has gone according to plan,” she admitted. “Quill is bonding with his own kind. Also Thor.”

“And Loki?”

“He recovered from the poison in his wounds, with the aid of the Avengers,” she responded. “He owes them for that, of course.”

“They feel sorry for him over it, or something?”

“No, it’s more complicated. Ask Drax about Asgardian life-saving boons.”

In the background, clearly having overheard, the Destroyer’s laughter suddenly boomed, sounding like it was at Loki’s expense.

“Sounds fun,” Rocket mused. “He off sulking somewhere then?”

“No, I believe he’s seducing an Avenger,” Gamora said.

Bruce choked on his drink and went into a coughing fit until she patted him hard on the back a few times. He finished getting his breath back from it shortly after Rocket signed off the communicator. Bruce then said, “I was really hoping to avoid thinking about that.”

“If it helps, I believe Loki’s intentions––while impure––are not intended to harm Stark. I am hoping Stark feels similarly.”

Reluctantly, the biochemist nodded. “Yeah, if either of them get hurt, it will probably be genuinely a lover’s tiff and not actually armageddon. I mean, I wouldn’t exactly bet on it not resulting in disaster at some point soon, but I’m a realist.”

She chuckled, and raised her cocktail glass. “That, I will drink to.”

He met it with his own beer glass, with a low clink.

They both then drained their glasses.

“The Kree are trying to frame Mar-Vell’s protectiveness of Earth as treason, and frame humanity as having brainwashed him,” Gamora then said.

Bruce sighed. “And they’re conquering war-like sorts, so that means they want Earth, basically.”

“Yes. Another drink?”

The biochemist considered the fact that it would be his third and sadly shook his head. “Nah, it’ll just make me volatile, at this point.”

“Yes, let’s leave the volatility to the others, for tonight. We’ll need to rest up.”

Bruce chuckled. “Sounds like it.”

 

~~

 

There was something to be said, Tony decided, for occasionally telling his usual schedule to go fuck itself, and instead having several rounds of sex with a Norse god who really did have _all sorts_ of useful spells, until dawn and sleeping in until noon.

Well, he planned to sleep in until noon, but the sound of his phone buzzing woke him at about ten. He felt Loki mutter something into his hair about just shutting off or destroying the infernal device, and Tony reached out, hit answer, and raised it to his ear. “Fuck off.”

There was the sound of an uncomfortable throat-clearing on the other end, followed by, “Well. That answers that question.”

“Parker, whoever gave you this number should be-”

“MJ did. This isn’t your phone, Tony.”

Loki, having overheard lifted his head enough to mutter, faintly audible over the phone. “By the fucking Norns, why did she give you my number?”

“Okay, so maybe I got it from her phone after guessing her passcode. And now this is getting uncomfortable, because you both... Well, the logistics of this phone conversation have been enlightening. I’m going to hang up now.”

“Why did you call?” Tony inquired.

“Uhm. Hanging up now.” _Click._

The inventor snorted, amused, and put Loki’s phone back on the nightstand. “I think he just called to check in on you.”

“Or to make sure some violence from me wasn’t the reason you’re not in the office,” Loki countered.

“Shut up. Go back to sleep.”

The god of mischief chuckled darkly, but pulled him closer again and settled comfortably, content to oblige. Tony considered for a moment that their trust levels had somehow progressed to actual cuddling, then decided _fuck it_ and rested his arm once more along the one Loki had around his waist, and drifted off to sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be a bit slower to arrive; lots more to restructure in it.


End file.
